


Shadow of the Bookman: Volume Two

by ButterflyGhost



Series: Shadow of the Bookman [2]
Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 67,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray has just gone undercover with the Mob, and all eyes are on 'the Bookman,' waiting for him to slip up. What choices does Ray have to make to maintain his cover?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Okay. I’m ready for this._

  
Yeah, he was ready. Except – except he couldn’t breathe. He was cold with fear, trying to squeeze air in and out of his lungs. It felt like he was up to his chin in rapidly setting concrete, his ribs crushed in by weight on every side. He’d seen the FBI photos, the victims buried alive in wet cement, lungs flooded with concrete. Ray knew what it felt like to drown. The brothers might do that to him, then slap a building on top. His permanent tombstone - a new casino or hotel, and Ma would never know.

 

 _Breathe._ The reality of the situation had been sinking in, ever since he’d been picked up at the gas station, and now, finally, show time. They were in Vegas. Armando had returned to the loving arms of the Iguanas – Sal at least was convinced he was Armando – but now he had to make as grand an entrance as possible. Not just the Strip needed to see him as the Bookman, but the sullen mobster sitting opposite him, glaring from the other side of the limo.

 

_Come on, Vecchio, you can do this._

 

Jackie Iguana, did not look like a loving cousin. In fact, he looked like he wouldn’t mind putting a bullet between Ray’s eyes.

 

 _Does he guess,_ Ray wondered, yet again. _He can’t know I’m not Armando, but does he guess something’s off? He’s not a stupid man._

 

Jackie wasn’t a trusting man either – one reason he had survived so much longer than many of his contemporaries. Jackie would stop at nothing to protect the business. Everyone knew that he’d killed his best friend – he wasn’t beyond killing his cousin. He loved Armando, there was no doubt, but that did nothing to reassure Ray. He had to keep Jackie’s confidence and trust, but right now the man was glaring at Ray like a particularly vicious biology teacher, getting ready to dissect a frog for the class.

 

“Well, go on then. Get a fucking move on,” Jackie snapped. “You kept us waiting long enough. We don’t have time to mess around.”

 

 _Shit,_ Ray unbuckled his seatbelt. _Don’t just sit there staring at him. We’re here. Wake the fuck up._

 

“It wasn’t his fault.” Sal was defending him. “Come on, Jackie, Chiara just died.”

 

“Yeah, well, so will we, if he doesn’t pull his head out his ass. The fucking idiot disappeared for weeks.”

 

“Leave it, Jackie. He’s here now, so try not to be a dick all your life.” Sal patted Ray comfortingly on the shoulder. “Come on, Mando. Don’t mind Jackie. He was just worried about you.”

 

Jackie leant forward over his knees and fixed Ray in his gaze. “I still am,” he said. “You got a lot of explaining to do. You can explain, can’t you?” He scowled. 

 

Ray had seen a lot of photos of this man scowling, but up close and personal it was even uglier than he expected. Jackie seemed to be demanding a staring contest. Ray had to play along, or seem weak. _I’m gonna die,_ Ray thought, meeting Jackie’s gaze. _They're gonna kill me. All it takes is one fuckup, one guy to realise I’m not Armando, and then –_ He smiled coolly, watched Jackie’s face relax a little. _And then they take me somewhere, and it won’t be quick. One slip-up here, they’ll still be killing me a week from now._

 

“Yeah, well,” Jackie broke the standoff. “It’d better be a good explanation, that’s all I’m saying.” He jerked his finger at the door. “You,” he said, “You’re gonna go in there, and you’re gonna scare the shit out of every single one of those fucking traitors. Think you can handle that?”

 

“Yeah,” Ray said, and he was surprised by how smooth and sure his voice sounded. “Yeah, I can handle that.”

 

With Sal and Jackie Iguana flanking him he strode through the front doors into the lobby of Caesars Palace. Despite the fact the Feds had shown him photos, he wasn’t expecting... this. 

 

Music, laughter, chatter - all wrapped in a blaze of lustrous gold. He’d always imagined Vegas as sounding crasser than this, coins rattling, machines pinging all over the place, but it was more sophisticated than he’d expected. At least this place was. It wasn’t even that loud. Just liquid noise. Not overbearing, not clatter. The music they piped in wasn’t elevator awful, wasn’t demanding to be heard. The voices of the patrons (customers, suckers, marks?) were exultant, happy, warm. People were having a good time here.

 

And why shouldn’t they? The casino was halfway between a church basilica and a shopping mall. He didn’t know whether to go for his wallet or fall to his knees… maybe that was the idea. Get people to do both, shop till they dropped, then worship the gods of gaming. He wanted to laugh at the sheer gaudiness, but it was too horrible. _Pa would’ve loved this place._ And it was cool, cool as the breath of a ghost. So fine to step into from the desert, so sweet to be in such a honeyed shade.

 

And the place itself was luminous. All mirrors and dazzle, lights bouncing off reflective glass. Life-sized Roman statues stood around… not the statues he had grown up with, not the statues of the saints, but old gods, the pagan gods of Ancient Rome. Venus, naked; naiads rising from a pool. Caesar, clothed, his arm raised in eternal salute; all around them, the sound of running water, living fountains. In the building itself, even, in the damned foyer…

 

Right in the heart of the desert, Vegas worshipped water as a god.

 

Ray struggled not to stare. This was his first time here, but not Armando’s, so he didn’t break stride. Instead, he allowed himself to fall into a gangster swagger, walking in step with the Iguana brothers... _We look like the Rat Pack,_ he thought, feeling slightly giddy, slightly crazed. All eyes turned toward the group, then widened when they saw that it was him. _Yeah, go on, stare. You thought I was dead, didn’t you…_  

 

No… they thought Armando was dead, he reminded himself, and they were right. He shuddered. He was walking, literally, in a dead man’s shoes.

 

For a moment, Armando walked beside him, and Ray kept his eyes narrow and his face mean.

 

“They thought I was dead, didn’t they,” he muttered to Sal from the side of his mouth.

 

“Well, yeah…” Sal gave a bitter quirk. “There were rumours. Maybe they were just hoping.” 

 

“Let’s go shake ‘em up. See who’s the most overtly ostentatious with their sympathy.” 

 

Ray flickered a smile. He’d read transcripts of the way Armando talked, listened to his voice. The main difference between them was that his brother sometimes used fancier language than Ray did. So, he wasn’t as clever as Armando, but he could fake it. 

 

“‘Overtly ostentatious,’” Sal chuckled. “Right.” He gave Ray’s back a big thumping pat that echoed and stung, and smiled, appreciatively, the way Ray did when Benny’d come out with a good one. “I like that.”

 

“Yeah.” Ray nodded, managing not to bring his arm up to protect his aching shoulder. “Because whoever protests too much, they’re probably invested.”

 

“You understand this crap more than we do, Cuz,” Jackie chimed in, ever the pragmatic one. “But we’ll keep our eyes out for bull-shitters.”

 

“That’s another way to put it.” Ray was smiling languidly, casting his gaze to the left and right as patrons of the casino tried to catch his eye, nodding occasionally when he recognised someone ‘important,’ ignoring the rest. “Let’s try not to kill ‘em with no proof though,” Ray cautioned. “Bad for business.” Bad for the FBI too… he’d been in Vegas less than an hour, and already he knew that his ‘cousins’ were prepared to do bloody murder for him.

 

“There’s Onofri,” Sal said, sotto voce. “He hasn’t seen us yet.”

 

“Oh,” Ray said, remembering the files he’d read on the Onofri Family. “This should be fun.” He winked conspiratorially at his ‘cousins’ and took a quick step forward, clapping his hand on Onofri’s shoulder.

 

“Hey, Pete, how you doing?”

 

Pietro Onofri swivelled on his seat, away from his lady companion, and twisted toward Ray. His face turned grey. For a split second he was rigid as a stone, the next he was expansively smiling and getting to his feet. He gathered Ray up into an embrace, and patted him hard on the back. _Holy shit,_ Ray thought, _they’re gonna kill me by hugging. I’m just getting over pneumonia, not to mention this morning’s little ‘op’, and these guys keep thumping me._ He was gonna have to talk to the Fed doctor when he next got a chance. His chest was still stinging inside. And as for his shoulder…

 

Damn. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, but he was gonna have to cough.

 

He wafted his hand in front of his face, in a comic gesture. “You still smoking those fake Cubans? You know we can get you the real deal.”

 

“Armando,” Onofri said. “Where’ve you been? We were so worried.”

 

Ray allowed his face to settle into menace. “Were you? What have you had to worry about?”

 

“Well, there was the accident, and then you and Chiara disappeared…”

 

“Accident, you say?”

 

“What…” Onofri’s eyebrows climbed into exaggerated surprise. _And this guy runs casinos,_ Ray thought, contemptuously. _He could no more play poker than I could do brain surgery._ “It wasn’t an accident?”

 

“No. No, Peter, Petey, Pete.” Ray smiled, dangerously. “No. It wasn’t. But you probably guessed that.”

 

“Well, I didn’t know that… but people were worried.”

 

“I bet they were.”

 

“How… how’s Chiara? She was missing too.”

 

Ray felt the world go still, and the noise of the casino faded all around him. For a moment he was in a cold room, on his knees, while a white sheet was pulled back from a little girl’s face.

 

Then he was back in a Vegas casino, talking to one of the biggest players on the Strip.

 

“Chiara died.”

 

“Condoglianze,” Onofri said, and gathered him up in another colossal hug. Ray stood as still as one of the statues of the gods. Onofri kissed him, loud smacks on his cheeks. Ray smiled, and endured it.

 

Behind Onofri, he saw the ghost of his brother, face like a mask. He raised an eyebrow at Armando and questioned, silently: _‘Ostentatious much?’_

 

Armando cast a cold eye back. _‘Indeed.’_  It wasn’t proof that Onofri had taken out the hit, but Ray liked him for it. Apparently, so did Armando.

 

Ray pulled himself back from Onofri’s embrace. “Grazie,” he said. He stood for a moment, aware that all eyes were upon them. He took swift stock of his surroundings.

 

The casino floor was full of people, but most of them were harmless. Over to his right, an FBI agent was tending bar. He’d have to tell his handlers that the guy needed to brush up on his skills. If Ray could spot him, perhaps an actual mobster could. Behind him, and to the left, at eight o'clock, he could feel the weight of eyes upon him. He’d spotted them coming in, Onofri’s heavies. And then there were the social climbers, the professional gamers, the wannabe players… and, of course, the innocent tourists, who only knew that these guys must be important because everyone else was looking at them. 

 

Ray waited long enough to be sure that everyone was watching the return of the Bookman, then deliberately stroked a hand on Onofri’s jacket, a proprietorial gesture. _‘Remember who’s in charge,’_  the movement said, as his hand glided across the smoke grey fabric. Smooth as milk, Ray thought, still astonished, although his own suit was similarly exquisite. Fine Italian wool, so delicately spun and woven that it hardly felt like wool at all, and everything lined in silk. He was never getting used to this.

 

Onofri squirmed very slightly as Ray tugged on his lapels, straightening his jacket. For a moment he remembered getting Little Tony ready for a family wedding, and how he had wriggled while Ray tried to pin a carnation in his buttonhole. This guy was in his sixties, almost as tall as Ray, and dignified. Musta been handsome back in the day. He obviously didn’t appreciate being treated like a kid in front of all Vegas. Ray smirked as he brushed off imaginary crumbs. Onofri submitted to Ray’s ministrations, and managed to keep the smile plastered on his face. “Listen, Pete,” Ray said, in oily tones, “I’m glad we ran into each other. We need to set up a meeting. Get your guys to call my guys.”

 

“Yeah, sure, Armando.”

 

Ray jerked his head at the ceiling, signalling upstairs. “VIP suite,” he said. “We’ll do lunch. Whaddaya say tomorrow?”

 

Onofri affected an air of uncertainty. “It’s short notice. They may already have a booking…”

 

“Oh, don’t worry.” Ray smiled. “They’ll make an exception for me.”

 

“Of course,” Onofri smiled back. “What was I thinking?”

 

“Until tomorrow then,” Ray said, and kissed Onofri on the cheek. The word ‘Judas’ shuddered through him, though he wasn’t sure if he was the traitor, or Onofri. “For now,” he said, “I have to go to see my wife.”

 

“Give her my condolences.”

 

“Oh, I will,” Ray said, pointedly. “You can be sure that I will.”  
~*~  
  
  
Swimming through the shark infested waters of the Strip was one thing. Meeting Armando’s wife was a different thing altogether.

 

“You’ll be fine,” Agent Cash had told him, the last time he had seen the agent. “They’ve been estranged for over a year, and – you’re a natural at this. I knew you’d be good, but…” he paused and shook his head, then continued with genuine admiration. “We’ve had a double blind trial conducted on the tapes, including the ones where you’re talking with the Iguanas, and our best experts couldn’t tell you and Armando apart.”

 

“Yeah. You’d think we were twins or something.”

 

Cash sounded pained. “You know, I’m sorry it worked out like this.”

 

“Not as sorry as Armando.” Ray fired back. 

 

Of all the Feds, Cash was the one he was most comfortable with. Ray reminded himself how very uncomfortable that fact should make him. He couldn’t afford to forget that the Feds had bullied and manipulated him until he had no choice but to take the job. And somewhere in the Bureau, he was sure, were conspirators in the deaths of Armando and Chiara Langoustini.

 

Armando had been a grown man, had made his own rotten choices. Not only had he been a grown man, he’d been a bad man too… nobody could say that he hadn’t deserved to die. But Chiara had been three years old. She had never hurt anyone, and she was just as dead as her father. And now Ray was going to meet Alexie Langoustini. She would look at him and see Armando, the father of her children: of their son, still in the hospital; their daughter, recently arrived at the undertakers.

 

Ray was not looking forward to this.

 

Jackie Iguana was sitting opposite him in the back of the limo, hands looped between his knees. His hair was slicked back smoothly, but his long jowly face never quite looked clean shaven. He might have been good-looking once, in a droopy kinda way, but it was hard to tell now that he was so overweight. To the uninitiated, he seemed slow, but he was a clever and ruthless man. He had risen through the ranks the traditional way; a combination of loyalty and shrewdly applied viciousness. Behind the sullen exterior, was a sharp mind, all gears, and wheels, and levers.

 

Sal Iguana was next to Ray, a mute supportive presence, his big arm, yet again, draped across his shoulders. The younger of the brothers, he took the more public role in the organisation – mainly because he looked good. Six foot five, stupidly handsome, his curly hair already greying at the age of forty – Ray was glad Frannie had never met him. Women must fall flat at his feet. When Armando Langoustini had been a boy, Sal was the big brother he had never had. 

 

Ray had read every scrap of information he could to try and figure out how these guys were together, had tried to read between the lines, but so far all he really knew was that Sal had looked out for Armando, and that Armando had been heard to claim, on several occasions, that Sal had saved his life.

 

Now that they were no longer in the public’s gaze the Iguana brothers were exuding sympathy from every pore. Even Jackie had dropped the attitude, now that Vegas was suitably cowed.  Ray was sitting by the smoked window, not saying anything at all, because… well, because he was in a closed metal box, speeding through an alien city, with two guys he didn’t know at all. Oh, he knew everything that he’d read in their files, he knew that they were amongst the nastiest assassins he’d ever come across, and that if they ever realised he wasn’t Armando, they were going to kill him, very very slowly indeed. But he didn’t know how to talk to them. Didn’t know exactly how Armando had related to them privately. He would have to edge his way into relationship with them, carefully. The FBI surveillance tapes could only go so far.

 

When Ray had been a kid, fear had sometimes made him talk too much, even when he knew it would only make things worse. It had gotten him hit upside the head often enough in the past, and sometimes still did. Benny must think he lived with his foot permanently in his mouth, the amount of times he’d put it there. But there always came a level of fear so deep that everything in you went still, poised on that point between fight and flight, trapped in the crosshair, an angel dancing on a pin. Ray watched the lights of Vegas thin out around him, as they sailed toward the desert.

 

It was the best thing, not to speak. Armando, apparently, was not a man given to small talk or babbling. Given the circumstances, that he was supposed to have survived an attempted hit, that he was going to see his wife for the first time since their daughter died, since their son came out of his coma, it was understandable that Armando – that Ray – wasn’t saying much. And Ray knew that he’d be fine, once he was out of the limo, once he wasn’t crushed into such close proximity with the brothers. But for right now everything was too dense, the air was thickening, and the walls were closing in.

 

He started to cough. Not just a tickle, but a real, gut wrenching cough.

 

The FBI doctor had warned him earlier in the week that this might happen.  

 

 _Oh God, not now,_ Ray thought, doubling over his knees, and coughing harder. _Wouldn’t it be just my luck to get a fucking relapse._ The last thing he needed was to become delirious again, and lose the filter between brain and mouth. _Shit…_ The coughing had subsided, and he was wheezing now. Sal’s arm had tightened around his shoulder, his good one, thank God, and both brothers leant up close to him, looking concerned.

 

“Armando?” Jackie was handing him a bottle of water, directly from the minibar. This wasn’t a limo, it was a goddam tour bus. “You alright?”

 

“Yeah,” Ray said, swigging water, and trying to settle his breathing. He could feel beads of sweat on his forehead, triggered by the fit of coughing. The Feds had told him that when he was in public, he couldn’t afford to show weakness, but that he could trust the Iguanas to look after their own. Ray decided to trust them now. He slid his hand into his pocket, and pulled out his bottle of pills, shook his dose into his hand. “Sorry, I gotta take these.”

 

Jackie plucked the bottle from his fingers, sniffed it, turned it around. 

 

Ray raised an eyebrow. “You could always read the label.”

 

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.” Jackie grinned, playing dumb. “Antibiotics stink, don’t they?”

 

“Well, these ones do,” Ray agreed. They sure had a funny smell. 

 

Jackie nodded, and gave him back the bottle. 

 

 _Interesting,_ Ray thought. _He’s checking up on Armando, wants to make sure the meds are what they say they are._

 

“What are they for,” Sal asked, gently, giving Ray’s back a pat.

 

Ray winced against the pain, and smiled at the irony. For once he was going to be able to tell the truth.

 

“After the… ‘accident’, I got pneumonia.”

 

“Shit, Mando, I know you said you fell to pieces, but I didn’t think you meant literally, like… physically.”

 

“Oh,” Ray said, dryly. “So you expected me to lose my mind, but not my health? I was in a fucking car crash.”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that, Mando,” Sal said, gently. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean you’d lost your mind. You’re nothing like her.”

 

“Like who,” Ray said, before he could stop himself. Shit… he was supposed to know this stuff. _What the fuck have the Feds missed now?_ Ray covered the fact that he had no clue what Sal was talking about by turning his head, and giving the man an angry stare, as though he knew exactly what he’d meant and didn’t like it. It clearly worked. Sal’s gaze drifted to the side, and he looked away, ashamed.

 

“Jeez, I’m sorry Mando. I didn’t mean to bring it up. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

 

Ray nodded, and looked back out the window.

 

“You’ll have to let me have a look at you,” Jackie said, leaning back. “When you’ve finished talking to Lexie. You maybe popped a few ribs on the safety belt. That’ll do it. Surprised you only got pneumonia. God, I’m just glad you’re okay.”

 

Ray nodded and wrapped his arms across his rib-cage. Armando had got far worse than pneumonia; Armando had got a steering column through his chest. Ray bit back a groan, sweat springing to his forehead. And damn, but all that pounding on his back and hugging and so on… It felt like he’d pulled a few stitches. If Jackie was going to do his amateur doctor thing (and the Feds had been pretty sure that he would) then he was probably going to want to take a good look at the ‘injury.’ _Damn…_

 

At least they had planned for it. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though. _Who’s stupid idea was this, anyway?_

 

Jackie leaned forward, and squeezed his knee. “You’re doing fine, Cuz. We’ll talk to Lexie, then you can stop working for the day. We’ll stay with you, you stay with us, whatever you like.”

 

“I should see Joey,” Ray said. Armando would have wanted to see Joey… hell, Armando already had seen Joey, standing phantom guard at the bottom of his bed. Sometimes Armando crept into Ray’s head with these little insights, and it gave him chills just how normal that felt.

 

Armando would want to see him, and Joey was Ray’s nephew too. He should go to him.

 

He wanted to… he didn’t want to. That boy was going to look up, see Ray, and think he was his father. Ray had no idea what that would do to him. But he should see the boy all the same.

 

“Mando,” Sal said, soothingly, “you can see him tomorrow. He’s fine, and besides, he’ll probably be asleep. You’ll have a better visit if you get some rest yourself.”

 

Ray nodded, mutely, glad to be able to put the visit off for at least a little longer. He had another meeting fast approaching. They were gliding up to it now, through rising hills. Armando’s home was a sprawling villa, set behind white walls and metal gates, high enough that any approach from below could be seen from miles away. The limo paused, the driver wound down his window and spoke into the intercom. One of Armando’s security guards replied, and then they were in. Parked, and disembarking, and…

 

Ray stood there, surrounded by his brother’s opulence, his adobe walls, his Italianate villa, with the blue pool shimmering like a jewel beneath the desert sun. Again, he’d seen pictures… but here, he was struck dumb.

 

Sal misunderstood his silence. “Come on, Mando,” he said, putting a big hand on Ray’s bicep and squeezing it. “Get it over with. You’ll be fine.”  
~*~

  
Armando’s butler was, like everything and everyone else round here, even more imposing than his photos. Only five foot eight, Nero was nevertheless built like a tank. Shoulders, and muscles, and scarred fists. The man had obviously been a boxer. Given his lack of head trauma (his nose and ears were resolutely unflattened and uncauliflowered) he must have had a pretty successful career. He spoke with a cut-glass British accent and wore a crisp white suit. It was the accent that struck Ray as the weirdest thing though. He’d met black Brits before, but somehow he wouldn’t have expected this particular black guy to sound like he spoke better English than the Queen.

 

“Your wife is visiting, Sir,” Nero said, redundantly. “She’s in the games room.” 

 

Yeah, well, that much was obvious. Everyone knew where Alexie Langoustini was from the moment they stepped in. You could hardly miss the noise. She was keening – literally keening. Making a funeral wail. The wail broke off for a moment, and there was a curse, choked off by a sob. The men held their breath – then there was crashing and banging as she threw things around. Silence, and then she was keening again. Ray looked from Nero to the rec room, and back again, not sure how to start.

 

“I’m sorry, Sir. She’s been waiting some time. She seems quite distressed.”

 

_Ya think?_

 

Ray braced himself and headed to the rec room. 

 

Alexie Langoustini was probably very beautiful, under normal circumstances. She was certainly beautifully dressed, beautifully made up, with beautiful hair. She was also, very expensively, drunk. She had her back to the main room, hadn’t seen him yet. Ray stepped through the open doorway just as she started hefting up pool balls, and hurling them at the wall. She turned, and saw him; snarled, grabbed an eight ball, and flung it at his head. He jerked to the side, and it smashed against the dart board, cracked to the floor and rolled.

 

“You killed her, you bastard,” she screamed. “You got our baby killed.” She seized the pool cue, started hitting him with it. Ray grabbed the thing, twisted it out of her hands, and she rushed him, started thumping and scratching. She was in bare feet, on tiptoe trying to put her fingers in his eyes, and the top of her head only came to his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to pin her arms before she clawed him blind, and she lifted her knee in a sharp snap to his groin. Ray folded over, and she started beating him around the head with her fists. “You killed her,” she kept sobbing. “You bastard, you killed Chiara, my baby, my poor baby…”

 

“That’s enough, that’s enough,” Ray heard Sal’s voice, angry, bellowing. “Leave him alone, he’s lost his daughter too.” Ray managed to straighten up, eyes watering and saw Sal. He had Lexie pinned to the wall, one broad hand around her throat, not squeezing but tight, and leaning into her, his forearm across her chest. Her face was white, and her eyes staring, and Sal was huge next to her tiny form.

 

Ray flew at Sal, wrestled him to the ground. He lifted a fist, then froze. Armando was touching his wrist. Cold shuddered through Ray, and his brother’s knowledge.

 

 _‘Sal won’t hurt her,’_ Armando said, a soundless echo in his skull. _‘He knows I’d kill him.’_ Ray dropped his fist, and stared at Sal. Armando was supposed to be his best friend – and fuck, what kinda friends knew they were prepared to kill each other? Despite himself Ray already almost liked the man, which was terrifying, considering what Salvatore Iguana was. 

 

Ray shook. He wanted to kill him, but he couldn’t. They were meant to be friends. He slid off Sal’s chest, landing on his ass, shuffled backward while still sitting down. His breath was quick and tight, his heart beating way too fast, and he had absolutely no idea how to play this. Sal sat up, wiping his forehead – he was sweating himself – and Ray said nothing. Instead, he turned to Lexie, who was sobbing now, in a huddled heap in the corner of the room.

 

“Hey,” he whispered, “Lexie…” he knew that much. He knew that was what his brother had called her. Alexie or Lexie, instead of her birth name Alessia. “Honey,” he said, which felt right. Armando was still watching them, and Ray shut his eyes at the sheer weirdness of it, as he put his arms around his brother’s widow. “It’s okay,” he said, though he knew damn well it wasn’t, and never would be, for her, again. She’d lost her little girl. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

She curled up then, hung onto him like a baby chimpanzee clinging to its mother, and sobbed onto his suit. He could feel snot and tears all the way through to his skin. When he opened his eyes, Armando was watching with something peculiarly like gratitude, a lot like envy, as Ray’s hand patted up and down on Lexie’s back. Sal was standing now, a wry twist to his mouth, and Jackie was leaning against the wall, arms folded, his face a mask.

 

Ray soothed Alexie Langoustini like a baby. She fell asleep quite quickly, hiccuping a little. He stood, lifted her in his arms, and winced at the tug of stitches in his shoulder. She wasn’t much of a weight, and at least it distracted him from the lingering ache where she’d kicked him. Where the hell did she sleep? Ray looked at the Iguana brothers – no help there. They were staring at him like he’d grown an extra head. He’d done something wrong – they’d picked up on something.

 

 _Oh God. I’m an idiot._ He’d just let himself be beat up by a woman, and he was being too damn nice to her. Unceremoniously, he slung her over his good shoulder, as though he was carrying a sack of flour rather a person. He still had to figure out where to put her. 

 

 _Damn. I should know my way around my own fucking house._ The floor plans he’d examined had fled from out his head. He glanced at Armando, who nodded, and walked ahead of him. Ray followed, through the open planned living space, until he reached a bedroom. There he dumped Alexie, letting her bounce a little on the mattress. He would have tidied her up, put a blanket over her, but Armando was a bastard. “Keep an eye on her,” he told Nero, awkwardly. He couldn’t look at the man… how the hell were you meant to talk to servants anyway?

 

“Certainly, Sir,” Nero said, and clicked his fingers. “Water,” he said abruptly to a maid, who Ray hadn’t even seen. _Ah,_ he thought. _So that’s how I’m supposed to speak to the staff._

 

He took a painful breath, and returned to the rec room, where the Iguana brothers were waiting. He wondered if he’d already fucked up and shot Armando’s credibility to hell, if the brothers would forgive the lapse in character.

 

“Mando,” Sal turned to him and smiled. Not a bullshit mobster smile, but a worried about his friend smile. Ray sighed slightly with relief. He hadn’t blown his cover – yet. “Come here,” Sal said, “let me look at you.” Ray stepped up, hiding his nerves, and Sal took his face between his hands. Ray tensed, and Armando in his head said, _‘trust him.’_ Ray forced himself to relax, as the mobster examined his face.

 

“Mando,” Sal said, and his sandy-coloured eyes seemed very sad. “Just because she’s a woman, don’t mean you have to let her slap you about.”

 

Ray bit his tongue. He was about to say _‘she was upset,’_ but his brother was a piece of fucking shit. He was probably more like Pa than Ray – not the kind of man who’d let a woman get away with raising her voice to him, let alone hitting him. _I should have thumped her,_ he realised, and his heart went cold.

 

“Yeah, well, I’ll talk to her in the morning.”

 

“You’d better do more than talk,” Jackie growled. “That was fucking pathetic.”

 

“Hey,” Ray glared on Jackie. “Back off. I know how to deal with my own fucking wife.”

 

“You’d better, Cuz. Just put her back in her place, that’s all I’m saying.” 

 

_God, what do they expect me to do, beat her up, or rape her?_

 

“Can I wait till the stupid cow’s sobered up? I don’t want her puking on my shoes.”

 

Sal laughed. “He’s gotta point, Jackie. Don’t worry, he’ll sort Lexie out.”

 

_I’m gonna have to get her outta the house first thing in the morning. Shit. And try to make sure our paths don’t cross too much._

 

Sal started turning Ray’s head from left to right, probing his skin with his fingertips. There were sharp little points and tracks of pain where she’d scratched his cheeks, but nothing deep or serious. Ray had taken far worse beatings in his time. There was hardly any blood at all. Sal stepped back, smiling, and cuffed his arm. “Look, I know this ain’t ever happened before. She wouldn’t dare, and God, I know how she must feel, just hearing about Chiara. But it upset me, that’s all. She’s not like your Ma, I know that, but I didn’t like to see it. I’m sorry I got rough.”

 

Ray shoved his fists into his jacket, felt sick. _‘Not like your Ma,’_ Sal had said. That must mean… that meant that Juliana Langoustini had beaten Armando. It was the only thing that made sense of Sal’s words. Ray’s face tightened up in anger at the thought. Thank God the old bitch was dead, Ray wouldn’t have been able to keep his cover with that – that fucking baby thief around. No wonder Armando had seemed so starved when he looked at his real mother. Ray pictured the moment at the graveside, when Armando had kissed Ma’s cheek, and his heart clenched. He glanced around for his brother, but he wasn’t there.

 

“It’s okay,” Ray said, tightly. “Bitch deserved it.” He cleared his throat. He thought of his dead brother growing up in the heart of luxury with pretend parents, and a woman who looked bad to the likes of Sal Iguana. Thought of little dead Chiara, and her mother, Alexie, passed out drunk, waited on hand and foot by a butler and maids. Thought of tomorrow, of meeting Armando’s son, Joey, in the hospital. Thought of it all, and felt his face grimace into a completely inappropriate smile. He put his hand to his ribs, and cleared his throat, tried to clear his chest. Started coughing again. “Water,” he said. “Give me a sec…” ‘Sec’ wasn’t a Bookman word, he reminded himself. A minor slip, and for now it could slide, but he really should remember how to talk.

 

“Come on,” Jackie said, pushing himself off the wall, and putting an arm around him. Sal took his other side, and they walked him from the shambles of the rec room. Ray’s instinct was to stay and tidy up, but he knew that Armando would simply expect the servants to do it. Instead he walked between the Iguanas, as they led him out of doors. “Sit here,” Jackie said, and the bumbling persona he adopted for outsiders was completely stripped away. Ray sat on a stone bench by the side of the pool, and wondered if anyone ever swam there.

 

“Nero,” Jackie called. “Water.” The elder Iguana knelt in front of Ray then, started to unbutton his shirt. Ray tensed, for an instant, before remembering that the Feds had told him this might happen. Jackie had already implied that he wanted to check Ray’s injuries, and he’d have to get used to this. Armando had always seemed comfortable in his own skin… he didn’t have Ray’s hang ups where that was concerned. Ray couldn’t afford to freak out just because he had to take his shirt off. And whatever else happened, at some point, someone was going to frisk him. He didn’t like to be touched, or exposed, but it seemed there was no choice. He steadied himself, trying to count his breath and seem calm. His lungs were definitely sore. It felt like he had sand in them. Not the horrid wet burn of full on pneumonia, but pain, nonetheless, and tightness.

 

Nero was suddenly there, and for a big built guy, he sure could glide. Three tall waters on a tray, ice cubes, lemon, sprigs of mint.

 

“Thanks,” Ray said, reaching for his glass, and started to drink. Sal laughed as Nero walked away.

 

“You’re awful friendly with the help.”

 

Ray flushed. Rookie mistake. He’d been hanging around with the Mountie too much, started being damn Canadian and polite without even thinking about it. The Iguanas might not pick up on the slip this time, but he’d have to do better.

 

Jackie had unbuttoned his shirt to the waist. “Get it off,” he told Ray. Ray kept his face completely still, and slid his shirt and jacket off, let them fall. _How rich are these guys,_ he thought, as thousands of dollars’ worth of wool and silk hit the stucco floor.

 

“Fuck, Mando,” Sal said, from behind him. Ray turned his head, squinting against the sun. He could barely make out the other man’s face against the dazzling sky. “You took a hell of a pounding.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Ray said, and allowed himself to smile. That was, after all, the reaction the FBI had hoped for when they prepped him for this part.

 

The bruises were real, of course, though fading. He had even got them the old fashioned way… fighting. But when the Feds had realised that Ray’s body was not exactly like Armando’s, they had to make a few superficial modifications, fast. Because Ray had been shot in the line of duty, once, been caught in an explosion, once. Ray had scars. And the Feds knew that one day someone would notice them… and that they had to be explained. Armando Langoustini couldn’t turn up with healed old scars, not when he’d been seen less than a month earlier sunning himself on a beach, with no scars at all.

 

“What’s under the bandage, Cuz,” Jackie asked, sitting back on his haunches, examining the square compress taped to Ray’s shoulder. The man moved around to check, saw the other one fastened on behind, and folded his arms across his chest, a serious look in his eyes.

 

“Ah.” Ray smiled, finding that, weirdly enough, he was enjoying this. “That would be where I was shot.”

 

“You were shot?” Sal dropped to his knees, hurriedly, grabbing him, and turning him so he could see the bandages more clearly. Ray took the opportunity to wince. Damn… the stuff the doctor had used to freeze the muscle while they ‘worked’ on him had definitely worn off… Wasn’t it meant to hold longer than this? _Showtime,_ he thought. _Now we get to see if the Fed’s master plan actually works._

 

“Holy shit, Mando, you’ve been shot!” Sal was clearly distressed. _God,_ Ray thought, _these guys actually do love Armando. If they figure out I’m not him, they’re gonna tear me limb from limb._ “Why didn’t you say so, you asshole?”

 

“There never seemed to be an appropriate time.”

 

Jackie was shaking his head at his little ‘cousin,’ equal parts furious and impressed. “You gotta a brain like caciotta,” he said, “but balls of fucking steel.” He looked up again to the house. “Nero,” he shouted, imperiously. “We need the medical kit. The big one.”

 

“I’ve already had it looked at,” Ray pointed out. “There’s a big clue right there. See how you can tell? The bandage.” _Shit,_ he thought, sweating. _Is that even how Armando talks to his cousins?_

 

“I know,” Jackie grinned, despite his irritation, and patted his face. From the look of benevolent amusement, then maybe yeah… maybe Armando did get to joke around with these guys, in between killing sprees and intimidation. Shame Ray couldn’t just ask the damned ghost, but that wasn’t how this seemed to work.

 

Nero unfolded a white sheet, and started laying out the contents of a first aid kit. He looked far too blasé about this, as though this was standard procedure. Jackie held his hands out, and Nero poured disinfectant on them without having to be told. Jackie shook the excess liquid from his hands, then pulled on sterile gloves. Ray flinched as the man started to peel back the dressing.

 

“Stay still,” Jackie snapped, and lifted the edge of the compress. Then the air hit the wound - because, thanks to the Feds there really was a wound there, again. Ray hissed. _Thank you, Feebies, that fucking hurts._

 

The actual ‘surgery’ itself had been done at the last minute - less than twenty minutes before they put him on the plane. Within four hours the stitches were itching like hell as the anaesthetic wore off, and now the scars were beginning to throb. _Only cosmetic my ass._ To be fair, the Feds hadn’t been expecting him to be attacked by Armando’s wife, and they’d obviously not taken into account all those manly Italian hugs, or the back pounding that went with them.

 

“If we’d had more time to plan this,” the cosmetic surgeon had said, regretfully, “we’d have been able to do something else, perhaps plastic surgery, to get rid of the old scars. But as it is, all we can do is try to explain them. So, we’ll have to abrade the original scars, make them look like more recent injuries.”

 

“You mean you’re gonna cut me up? Why don’t you just take me out and shoot me again, get it over with? Save the Mob a lot of bother…”

 

“Oh, don’t worry,” the surgeon had replied, completely missing the point. “It’s only superficial. We’ll need to make it look good, but we’ll stitch it properly, and if you keep it clean then it should heal up fine. So long as nobody starts pushing their fingers too far in, they’ll not realise that the actual bullet wound is healed.”

 

 _Fucking Feds,_ Ray thought, and gritted his teeth as Jackie examined the freshly prepared wound in his back. _Damn._ There were his fingers now, probing the edges of the injury. He found himself hoping the Fed guy had made a deep enough hole… and how messed up was that? He felt a hand grab his own, and realised from the size of it that it was Sal’s. “Squeeze if you gotta,” Sal said. “S’okay.”

 

“Hey, don’t worry, Cuz,” Jackie said, gently. “I’m not gonna operate on you, I just wanna make sure the wound is clean.”

 

 _This’ll work. This has to work. Don’t panic…_ Jackie would take a quick look, not wanting to mess with it too much, wouldn’t realise that the ‘bullet’ didn’t go all the way through. The Feds had been pretty sure that it would work.

 

The Feds had been pretty sure about a lot of things. They’d also been pretty sure that the painkiller numbing his shoulder wouldn’t have worn off quite yet. _A lot the Feds know…_

 

Jackie tugged lightly on one of the stitches, and made a ‘tut’ noise. “That’s torn,” he grumbled, like it was Ray’s fault. “Musta been Lexie,” he said, “that stupid –”

 

“It might,” Ray snapped back. Wouldn’t do for Jackie to think a woman had hurt him. “Or it might have been everyone hugging me. She didn’t hit me that fucking hard.” He hissed at a needle-sharp pain, and realised that his eyes were tight shut. He tried to open them… he didn’t like to be in the dark like this, but he couldn’t do it. He bit off a noise again, and felt his eyes water, slightly. That was an actual needle… Jackie was replacing the damaged stitches.

 

“Warn me when you do that,” Ray complained. “Fuck…”

 

At least the pain was distracting him from the fact that he was scared shitless. Oh yeah, _‘don’t worry, this is superficial.’_ He’d like to find that doctor and see how he liked it. When the Feds did this earlier, they’d been very quick about it, and he’d felt nothing. Now he was beginning to see just how insane the whole thing was. _‘Really,’_ he should have said to them. _‘This is your plan? Send in a guy who’s sick anyway, and just to even things up a little ‘abrade’ his old wounds? No wonder the bad guys are winning.’_

 

“I’m gonna kill someone,” Ray gave vent to his feelings. “Shit.”

 

“Who the hell did this,” Jackie replied, tersely. “Looks like the bullet wound was a clean through and through, but you got scars there too… who stitched you up, a butcher?”

 

“Some of it was glass,” Ray pointed out. It wasn’t entirely untrue. Some of the wounds from the explosion that time actually had been from breaking glass. “Ow.”

 

“Yeah, well, it’s still a mess. So who the fuck sewed you up?”

 

“Just some guy,” Ray gritted out. “Not his fault I wouldn’t keep still. Mortician.” Fuck, that hurt… Sal’s hand must be killing him. Ray was squeezing like a sonuvabitch, and he hadn’t even noticed that he’d started.

 

“Fucking hell, Armando,” Jackie stopped sewing, mercifully. “Why’d you go to a mortician?”

 

“I was already a customer of his,” Ray said, sticking to the cover story. “He looked after Chiara for me.”

 

Jackie’s face was pinched, and he was rapidly applying clean dressings to the wound. “I’m sorry I was a jerk,” he said. “When you first got here. I was just pissed you left us in the lurch, I didn’t know you’d been, you know...” His voice trailed off uncomfortably. From what Ray knew of him, this was not a man given to apologies. “You gotta get some rest.”

 

“You done torturing me?”

 

“For now, Cuz.”

 

Ray shut his eyes, and let Sal help him back into his silk shirt and fine woolen jacket. When he opened his eyes Armando was watching Sal with tenderness, as the tall man knelt in front of Ray and buttoned up his shirt. Gradually, Ray felt his heart decelerate. He’d been the Bookman for over half the day and he hadn’t died yet. The Iguanas hadn’t realised that he was an imposter… _I can’t believe it, they really think I’m Armando._ Not only that, he had won their sympathy and admiration. They’d cut him a little slack now, if he messed up, said the wrong thing. They wouldn’t expect Armando to be perfectly on his game after this… Ray started to breathe a little easier. He’d created some wiggle room, a little margin for error. _God,_ he thought. _I might actually get out of this alive…_

 

Armando was suddenly right in his face, practically nose to nose, and his eyes were very cold.

 

 _Betray them and I’ll make your life a hell,_ the ghost thought in his head. Ray blanched, as all the heat went out of the desert sun.

 

“Mando? You okay?” Sal was patting his face.

 

“Yeah,” Ray whispered. “Yeah, sorry.”

 

“Come on,” Jackie leant over, and helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you to bed. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

“Thanks,” Ray whispered, Armando’s unvoice echoing in his head.

 

He had to betray these guys. That was what he was here for, to bring the Iguana brothers down. To protect Ma, and his sisters, and the kids. And yes, he admitted it, to find out whoever the bastard was who’d killed his brother and his niece.

 

But for the first time he realised that more than his life was at stake. ‘I’ll make your life a hell,’ it had said – the ‘thing’ that had been his brother.

 

Armando in the flesh had been a man to be feared. As a ghost…

 

Ray shut his eyes and prayed.


	2. Chapter 2

Ray padded wearily across the floor of his brother’s bedroom, and drew the blinds. The room dimmed, and he pressed his forehead against the wall for a moment. No good. His brain was still buzzing.

 

 _Adrenaline,_ he thought. _I’m never gonna sleep..._

 

Now that he was alone, he could admit that he was jet-lagged and exhausted, but it was only afternoon. He’d left Chicago before dawn, and it had sleeting. Here in the desert, the sun was too damn bright.

 

_God Almighty, I’m here. I’m actually in Vegas. I’m in Armando’s house..._

 

He looked around anxiously for his brother. No sign of him. He was alone.

 

No. He was not alone. Somewhere in this house the Iguana brothers were discussing spin campaigns to manage the return of the Bookman. Right now they were working out strategies to fend off mob war. If they ever figured out he was a cop...

 

_I gotta get some rest..._

 

He was too damn scared to close his eyes _._

 

He sat on Armando’s bed. Looked at his feet, in Armando’s slippers. He wanted to take everything off, but he had nothing else to wear. _Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it._ He kicked, convulsively, and the damn slippers flew across the room, hit the far wall. _Yeah, stay there,_ he thought. _Someone needs to make a mess._

 

 _‘It wasn’t always like this.’_ Armando was in his head, and Ray flinched.

 

“Not now,” he managed. _God’s sake, what am I gonna do?_ He hugged himself against the cold. Why was it cold in the desert? _I’m panicking,_ he realised, _God Almighty, he’s gonna kill me._

 

The ghost sat down on the bed, and waited.

 

After a few moments Ray realised that his brother wasn’t going to hurt him just yet. His breathing steadied.

 

Then the ghost put his hand on Ray’s arm.

 

“What do you want?” _I’m sounding calm again, thank God._ He looked at Armando.

 

No answer. Despite himself, Ray lay back down, and closed his eyes.

 

_Pietro Onofri came into Armando’s bedroom. “Your father wants you,” he said. Armando scrambled from his chair, leaving his homework on the table. His father had asked for him. All his life, he had aspired to make the Bookman proud._

 

Ray blinked, almost woke, fearful that there was someone in the room. He struggled for a moment, but it was only the blankets tangled round his legs.

 

_It was night-time, and Armando was sitting on a fence, watching a horse. Ray strolled up to his brother and nodded. Spoke casually to him, as though they were old friends. “Didn’t figure you for an animal lover.”_

 

_“Rocinante,” Armando told him. “My horse.”_

 

_“Yeah?” It didn’t surprise Ray that in this dream Armando could speak. He hopped up on the fence beside him, and followed his gaze. It was a handsome animal. Sleek and black, with a curved neck and strong muscles. Musta cost a fortune. Everything Ray knew about horses he’d learned outside the Bookies, waiting for the old man. “I don’t know much about horses,” Ray admitted. “Hope nobody expects me to ride it.”_

 

_“Him,” Armando said. “He’s a him.”_

 

_Armando turned to Ray, and smiled – his nastiest smile yet. “I want you to see.”_

 

Ray jolted bolt upright. His brother was standing by his bed. “Fuck off,” Ray yelled, and didn’t care who heard it. Armando pushed a finger against Ray’s lips. _‘Hush,’_ he commanded. Ray fell backward, hit the pillow, and kept on falling.

 

_There was a boy, standing with a shotgun, at the edge of the paddock. For a moment Ray thought it was himself as a teenager - but it was his brother, better dressed, with shorter hair. Seemed the seventies had passed him by._

 

_“What are we looking at?”_

 

_“My sixteenth birthday.”_

 

_Ray watched as the horse – Rocinante – recognised the boy waiting at the fence. The big animal spun around, cantering toward his owner, tossing his head. He must have seen the gun, but didn’t know what it was._

 

_“I’m not  gonna watch this,” Ray declared, stepping back. “I don’t care what they made you do.”_

 

_Armando grabbed him by the shoulders, and started walking, propelling him closer and closer to the boy with the gun._

 

_“You’re going to see this,” the man snarled, in a voice so familiar Ray didn’t know who was speaking._

 

_And then... Ray was looking out of his brother’s eyes. The horse was butting his face – Armando’s face – seeking sugar cubes._

 

_Ray didn’t know who he was anymore, just that this was his horse, that he’d loved him since he was seven years old. Rocinante nuzzled against Ray’s neck, urgently huffing soft warm breath on Armando’s face..._

 

_The boy stroked the long nose, kissed the velvet cheek, hoping that the men wouldn’t see him cry. This was the life they had chosen for him to take, for him to prove himself ‘un uomo d'onore.’_

 

_He stepped back, lifting the long weight of the shotgun, balancing the barrel across his forearm, and pressed the muzzle between his horse’s eyes._

 

_His father came up to him after he’d done it, from an unseen darkness. He had been watching in the shadows. Ricardo Langoustini took Armando in his arms, a rare embrace, and called him ‘son.’_

 

Ray scrabbled, trying to claw his way out of the bed, out of the dream. _Oh God, you’re not my father._ He couldn’t remember anymore who he thought his father was, but he had to be better than this.

 

_Men on either side, propelling him along. He tried not to stumble, but he couldn’t see. Then, they made him kneel. A man’s hand seized his jaw, fingers pushed against his teeth, and he opened his mouth, obediently. He felt something, sharp. A knife. They pricked the inside of his lower lip, and the world tasted of metal. His chin was wet. Then they removed the blindfold._

 

_His father sat, like the King of Swords, with the shotgun cradled across his lap. Ray-Armando didn’t look at it. Someone pushed him from behind, forcing his head down, and it was only then that he saw the skull on the floor. He kissed it and they released him. He lifted his head and watched as the men smeared his blood against the bone._

 

Ray woke, cold as a corpse. He’d been dreaming about… about what? Their sixteenth birthday? He couldn’t remember...

 

 _‘I need you to understand,’_  his brother thought.

 

“No,” Ray whispered. “Please. I don’t want to.”

 

_Ricardo Langoustini stood and handed the shotgun to Pietro. In his hand was a portrait – St Ignatius of Loyola. With the flick of a lighter, he set fire to the paper, then held it to his son. The boy kneeled on the ground, hands cupped like a beggar’s._

 

_Armando received the burning image of the saint, then juggled it from one blistering palm to the other as he recited his vows. He would always put the Cosa Nostra first, he told them. Even if his wife had been about to give birth, he would put Cosa Nostra first._

 

 _As a sixteen year old, grieving for his horse, what did Armando know of wives?_  
~*~

 

Ray woke in the early morning. In the room next door, he could hear Lexie, throwing up. He remembered when Angie had morning sickness, before she lost the baby, and covered his face. God, that was a long time ago, back when it was the worst thing that would ever happen to him. Alexie Langoustini had just lost her child. He should go to her…

 

_Don’t be stupid. You can’t go to her. The brothers will fucking kill you._

 

She was crying now. He lay, frozen with misery, listening to her sob. He couldn’t even ask if she needed anything. He’d already made the Bookman look like a pussy, he had to treat this woman badly. Besides – wasn’t he supposed to ‘go in there and put her in her place?’

 

 _I’ll send Nero to talk to her, tell her to get out, not to let her back in again._ He needed her out of the house for his own safety as much as hers. She had been married to Armando for fourteen years, had known him longer. Ray could put on the best act in the world, but she, of all people, knew her husband. She might not know what was different about him, but she’d pick up on something. The less contact he had with his brother’s widow, the better.

 

After a while she fell silent, and Ray hoped she went back to sleep.

 

Ray himself had slept enough. He rolled, stiffly, and got out of bed. The previous day he’d asked Nero to find him something to wear, and been presented with purple silk pyjamas. _It’s as bad as being naked,_ Ray thought, now that he was awake enough to care. The silk was slippery, like water on his skin. _There’s gotta be a robe somewhere…_ He stepped into the closet (bigger than Benny’s office at the Consulate) and stared at the ranks of clothes.

 

_Holy shit._

 

Outside the bedroom door he heard a tapping. He froze. _Please don’t be Armando’s wife…_

 

“Hey, Cuz, you awake?” Jackie’s voice, quietly.

 

“Yeah,” Ray said, surprised how bleary he sounded. Just as well he'd got some sleep, the brothers had planned a very early start. “Come on in…”

 

Jackie stopped by the bottom of the bed, and grinned. “Hey, I didn’t know you were in the closet. What you doing there, Cuz?”

 

“Hiding,” Ray snapped. One thing he knew about the Mob, you didn’t let gay jokes go. Even if it was your best friend or good cousin, that kind of joke falling on the wrong ear was a death warrant. It was even worse than your wife sleeping with another man. You could always have your wife whacked, and the other man dismembered. If they thought you were a fanook, they’d chop your dick off themselves. Jackie obviously realised he’d said the wrong thing, because he made a backward rolling gesture with his hands, as though playing charades in reverse, rewinding a tape.

 

“Sorry, Cuz, that was stupid.”

 

“S’okay. I don’t know what I’m doing in here, actually.” He stepped out of the closet, and slid the doors behind him. “Oh… yeah. I was looking for a robe.”

 

“Hey,” Jackie said, cheerfully. “You don’t gotta cover up, you know. The scars won’t be that bad.” He grinned then. “Besides, when it gets out what happened, you’re gonna look hard as fucking nails.”

 

“Maybe.” Ray looked at Jackie with a small frisson of relief. At least the elder Iguana brother didn’t stalk around the place letting it all hang out. He was in a robe himself.

 

“No ‘maybe’ about it, Cuz. As if you weren’t a scary enough bad-ass anyway. What about the mortician, the guy who hid you and Chiara? You want we should send him a thank you?”

 

Ray pondered this. If the Feds hadn’t told him what to expect, he wouldn’t have had a clue what Jackie meant by that question. Even now that he had his cover story in place, he wasn’t quite sure if Jackie really wanted to express his thanks to the mortician for saving his cousin’s life, or if he wanted to have him whacked to protect Armando in some way. It wasn’t like Ray could have asked him _. ‘Hey, what’s the right gift in these circumstances? Paying for the guy to spend the rest of his days in the Bahamas, or putting a bullet through his head? ‘Cause the etiquette books are real unclear on this point.’_

 

Not knowing what the man meant, Ray was deliberately vague, which would suit the circumstances either way. He’d go into detail later, when both brothers were there – he knew already that they would question him extensively about what he’d been been doing for almost three weeks.

 

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, coolly. “He’s been appropriately recompensed for his efforts.”

 

“That’s good to know. It’s important to look after our friends.”

 

 _Well, that’s as clear as mud._ Ray gave a curt nod. “What time is it?”

 

“About five in the morning.”

 

That was why he was feeling bleary. He’d just slept, on and off, for nearly twelve hours.

 

“How are you and Sal doing? You get any sleep?”

 

“We took a lotta them ‘overtly ostentatious’ calls while you were out for the count. A whole buncha people came slithering outta the long grass to play kiss up when it turned out you weren’t dead after all.”

 

“Yeah? Like who?”

 

“Onofri for one. He called twice… fucking idiot. Tries to act like he’s got balls of brass, then he’s concilliumy.”

 

“Conciliatory.”

 

“Yeah.” Jackie looked pissed at being corrected. “That. And there’s the Irish families, of course, the Jews, the Moolies…”

 

Ray winced at the racial slur. He was going to have to get used to it – he’d heard the way the brothers talked. Hell, he’d heard the way his own brother talked. Fuck. He wondered if Armando had used those words in front of his ‘staff’ and, if so, what the hell did Nero think of it? Damn. Something else to get used to. He was gonna have to use language like that. Talk like the racist, sexist homophobe his brother had been.

 

Jackie was carrying on obliviously. “Most of our guys are fine… you know where you stand with Paesanos. But then there’s Onofri. You think he’d know better, after the last war, but he’s jealous of what we got going here, ever since you took over from your father. Stupid bastard.” Jackie snorted. “Still thinks with your Pa gone, he can move in on us. It’s been fucking years.” The look he gave Ray was mingled respect and resentment. “But then you came along and fucked it up for him.”

 

Ray spread his arms out and turned on the spot, like a catwalk model basking in applause. “You know me,” he said, turning back to Jackie, flicking non-existent dust from imaginary lapels. “I am, to be fair, a fucking rock star.” He felt it too, dressed in imperial purple, even if he was ridiculously exposed in the whispering silk.

 

“That you are, Armando,” Jackie grinned broadly, his heavy face transformed by it. Despite the fact that there had always been tension between them, he seemed genuinely relieved that his cousin was okay. “That you are.”

 

Ray inclined his head, in that slightly regal gesture he had first seen while lying in a hospital bed, watching his brother’s ghost. He understood it better now. Armando liked to joke around with his persona. Just as Jackie played the peasant in public, so Armando and Sal played Mafia royalty. Their audience was the butt of a family in-joke, and didn’t even realise it. The cousins had been playing that game, probably since they were children.

 

How did he know all that, Ray wondered. Intuition, a hunch, cop-instinct? Or channelling Armando? He filed it away to worry about later…

 

For now, he lifted an amused eyebrow, and flashed the Bookman’s rock star smile. “Well then, Cuz, let’s go sign some autographs. Our public awaits.”

~*~

 

After breakfast came… Well, Ray couldn’t help thinking of it as a Ceremony of Reconciliation. Confession… penance. Those who hadn’t stood against the Iguanas, but who hadn’t publicly identified with them in their time of trial needed an opportunity to make their act of contrition. Ray strolled through an oasis of green and blue, into a grotto set out of the way of zoom lenses and prying eyes. The Iguanas didn’t underestimate the Feds, after what had happened with the Fiorellis. _Of course,_ Ray thought, _the Feds did us a favour with them…_

 

Hang on. _‘Us?’_ He glanced to his side, and sure enough, there was Armando, strolling at his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, and wondered how you went about having a man to man conversation with a ghost. _Get out of my head, dammit,_ he thought at his brother, fiercely. Armando shot him a vicious smile, showing his teeth.

 

There was water running everywhere, and a marble bench set back amongst the trees. Ray took his position, folded one leg elegantly across the other, and smoothed the lines of his suit, ignoring his brother. Sal sat beside him, and Jackie, as _capo bastone_ , stood at Ray’s left hand side. Arms folded behind his back, still as a statue, for a moment he almost looked like Benny on parade, if Benny had been an overweight guy in his mid-forties wearing a ten thousand dollar suit. Benny would be back from Canada now. Was the Dragon Lady still making him stand guard outside the Consulate? Had Agent Cash kept his promise, and sent Benny the postcard? The man hadn’t been surprised by the request, and had made the item up to Ray’s specifications, even though technically he was bending the rules. Would Cash have gone to that much trouble if he hadn’t meant to follow through?

 

There was nothing Ray could do about it. For two years he and Benny had watched each other’s backs, but now, here he was in Vegas, and his best friends were mobsters. Jackie Iguana was not Benny, not even close.

 

Ray waited for the audience to begin, trying to drink in the calm atmosphere of the private gardens. Unbelievable… silver springs tumbled from the rocks like water in the Sinai, and rippled through careful pathways amongst the foliage and verdant trees. It was so artfully done that you could almost forget the whole thing was manmade, that they were in the desert. Ray relaxed in the shade, eyes slightly hooded as he took in the cravenly apologetic behaviour of the _uomini d’onori_ who presented themselves before him, like penitents.

 

The first man to approach shocked him by kneeling, not in front of Sal, but in front of Ray. _What the hell? I’m not capofamiglia._ He had known the repentant sinners would kneel, just not before him. He’d seen pictures of Sal, or Jackie, depending who was in charge at the time, holding their hands out for the _baciamano,_ but never the Bookman. Sal glanced at Ray sideways, and made a fractional nod, twitched his fingers. _‘Go ahead,’_ Armando confirmed, whispering in Ray’s ear. _‘I was the most wronged by this. They have to apologise to me.’_

 

The first time Ray extended his hand for another man to kiss his flesh crawled from the touch, all the way from the brush of lips against his knuckles, through to his scalp and toes.

 

Ray repressed his shudder and watched as the penitent shuffled, still bowing, to kiss the hand of the _capofamiglia._

 

Sal thoughtfully lifted his hand over the bent head, letting it hover, while the audience awaited his judgement. The man sweated until Sal dropped his palm in benediction on his bald skull. “You’re forgiven.”

 

 _‘Ego te absolvo,’_  Father Curry whispered in Ray’s head.

 

“Thank you, Capo, Consigliere,” the man stuttered, and scrambled from his knees. Ray smiled indulgently, waiting for their next visitant, still with shudders creeping through his flesh. The men came, and knelt, and were forgiven.

 

Ray wasn’t thinking about Father Curry at all.

~*~

 

“Onofri’s late,” Jackie glared at his food, like the plate was to blame.

 

“I expected him to be,” Ray replied. Actually, he hadn’t, but he thought he knew what Onofri was doing, and allowing the Iguana’s to think that he’d foreseen this behaviour was a good idea. “He’s trying to show he’s not scared. He fucked us royally when I was away, and everybody knows it. But he thinks he’s a player, and we’re still too weak to take him out.” Ray shook his head at the old man’s vanity. “He’s testing the water to see what happens.”

 

“We shoulda killed him last time,” Jackie growled.

 

“Why didn’t we?” Ray asked the question with a smile, as though he was just joking. This was one of the many things the Feds didn’t know. Details of mob wars were hard to track – nothing but rumour, and as for the bodies (or bits of bodies) they were rarely found. He knew there had been trouble with Onofri before, but had to tread lightly till he worked out exactly what had gone on.

 

Jackie gave him a filthy look and parroted back. “‘Why didn’t we?’ I suppose now you’ll admit you were wrong?’”

 

_Great. It was Armando’s idea not to kill the old bastard._

 

“Looks like I was wrong,” Ray admitted. “Happy now?”

 

“Not really. You and all your clever stuff, balance of power and that shit.”

 

 _Oh, right..._ If Ray remembered correctly there had been three big families left by the end of the Vegas wars. Armando probably thought if one of them disappeared, the other would try to take over the vacuum. Back then the brothers hadn’t been strong enough to be sure of winning. And he hadn’t actually been wrong. The ‘peace,’ such as it was, had held for over ten years.

 

Armando would probably have pointed that out to Jackie, and started an argument. Ray had seen the transcripts – they argued all the time. Instead, Ray shrugged. “That’s what I get for reading the Art of War at an impressionable age,” he said. “My Pa shoulda known better than to send me to college.”

 

Jackie looked surprised, then started laughing, approvingly. Ray smiled. One of his suspicions had just been confirmed. His elder ‘cousin’ resented the fact that Armando was the ‘brains’ of the outfit. Seven years was a big age gap when you were a kid – Jackie probably looked at the Bookman and saw a precocious whiny brat.

 

 _Good to know,_ he thought. _Might help me read him._

 

“Don’t worry about Onofri,” he said. “He’s just trying to prove he’s a big fish.” He stabbed his salmon with his fork. “Speaking of which,” he added, trying to pull the conversation away from territory he knew so little about, “normally I’d have gone for the steak… but this is excellent.”

 

“I don’t give a flying fuck about dinner,” Jackie lost his grin, and threw his napkin on the table. He glanced around and dropped his voice so the bodyguards, seated at discretely distant tables, wouldn’t hear. “We can’t have the Onofri Family making us look weak. And we can’t let that old fuck get away with the shit he’s been pulling.”

 

“Quite,” Ray agreed. He wanted Jackie to tell him more about what ‘that shit’ was, but if he waited the story would come out. He’d already figured out a hell of a lot. “So we won’t let him get away with it.” _They’re gonna want to kill him..._

 

Shit. So did Ray – part of him anyway. _I don’t know Onofri killed Armando and Chiara,_ he told himself. _And God’s sake, I’m a cop._

 

“We put Pietro in his place,” he told the brothers calmly, “and the rest of them will follow suit.” He speared a piece of asparagus, and nibbled off a bite. _God… Ma’s gonna be blown away by the food at this place. I’ll have to bring her to…_ What the hell was he thinking? Even if he could afford to eat in a place like this on a cop’s salary, he could never bring Ma here anyway.

 

Suddenly the food didn’t taste so good. Ray sighed, and put down his fork. “I know you’re angry Jackie, but we can’t let him see that.”

 

“I know,” Jackie agreed, “but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

 

_Well, at least he’s not angry with me anymore._

 

Ray looked across at Sal. It was hard to read him right now. He was probably as pissed off about Onofri playing them as Jackie, but was taking out his frustrations on his steak. He didn’t look like he was enjoying the food. More like a man on a mission to feed his body protein no matter what.

 

“Look, Cuz,” Jackie continued, “anyone says anything, we just came here to eat dinner, and if he doesn’t show… well, we’ll figure out what to do about it later.”

 

“Oh, he’ll show,” Ray said, certain of it. “He might be trying to insult us, show us that he’s not intimidated, but he’s not a fool.” He paused, and corrected himself. “Not a complete fool anyway. He won’t want to alienate us… he’s just trying to put us in our places. After all, he knew our fathers, as he’s so keen to remind us.” Ray had heard Onofri doing just that on the tapes. “We should respect him, apparently.”

 

“Yeah,” Jackie started eating again. He was on a salad kick… from what Ray had picked up on, he was trying to lose weight. He didn’t look too impressed with his dinner, even if it was probably the best salad on the planet.

 

“Boss,” a quiet voice at his shoulder, and Ray turned.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Just got word. Onofri’s arrived at the lobby. He’s coming up.”

 

“What a shame,” Ray pushed the food away, regretfully. “And here we are, just leaving.”

 

Jackie laughed out loud, and Sal put his fist to his mouth and chuckled. Ray got to his feet, shook out his napkin. “Call the kitchen,” he told the bodyguard. “Tell them to cancel dessert.”

 

“Well played.” Jackie’s fit of levity had passed, and he was standing with his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets, looking as slouched and shambolic as he ever did.

 

“He’s not gonna like this,” Sal said, sounding very pleased about it.

 

“He shouldn’t mess with the Iguanas,” Ray pointed out, remembering that, although he was Armando Langoustini he was also, via his mother, an Iguana. He glanced at his friend. “Come on, knock it off, Sal. If he comes in and you’ve got a mug like that he’s gonna know he’s being played.”

 

“He knows it anyway,” Sal said, scraping the chair back as he stood, though he did lose the shit-eating grin.

 

“It’s one thing to know it,” Jackie pointed out before Ray could, “another thing to have it rubbed in your face while your whole crew is watching. We need to tread lightly.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Sal admitted. “Okay… here he is.”

 

Ray and the brothers turned, in perfect synchrony, affecting surprise as Pietro Onofri walked in. Onofri made a mild gesture of regret, but broke his cool by starting to talk the minute he was in the door. Ray thought again what a terrible poker player he would make. _And this guy thought he could take over from Ricardo Langoustini? He’s a clown…_

 

“Armando, Sammy, Jackie, I’m so sorry. You know the way things are…”

 

Sal’s face stayed perfectly friendly, despite Onofri’s offensive familiarity with his name. Nobody else called the man Sammy – hadn’t done since he was a kid. He hadn’t liked it then, he didn’t like it now – which of course was why Onofri did it. “Hey, don’t worry about it, Pete,” Sal said, and Ray realised with a start that of course he’d speak to Onofri first. He might seem less assertive than his brother, but he was the _capofamiglia_ after all. “It’s a shame you couldn’t make it though.”

 

“I’m here now,” Onofri said, comfortably. “So… let’s talk…”

 

“Mi dispiace,” Ray said, because he’d picked up on the fact that Onofri liked to make a big thing of it that he was _‘un vero Italiano.’_ He’d been born in the old country, and never let those born outside _‘la madrepatria’_ forget it. “I’m sorry, Pete, but we have a schedule. We’ll have to rearrange.”

 

Onofri looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. “Rearrange your other appointments,” he said.

 

Ray lifted an eyebrow. The old man was overstepping the mark, with deliberate insolence.

 

“No,” he replied, bluntly, returning insult with insult. “You’re a businessman. You know how these things go. It doesn’t do to keep people waiting. We wouldn’t want people to think we had no respect. Not good for business, or trust.”

 

Onofri went still at the implicit criticism, and Ray graciously patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry Pietro,” he smirked. “We can do this later.” He glanced at the waiters, lined up obediently by the far wall, and snapped his fingers, gesturing for service. A pretty Latina woman hurried to his side, eyes downcast. Of course, each member of the serving staff was pretty, even the men. “Since you’re here,” he told Onofri, “you may as well enjoy the meal. I can personally recommend the salmon.” He glanced at the mute servant, apologising for his arrogance, if only in his head. “See to it that my friend and his companions get the best.”

 

“Yes, Sir.” She bobbed her head, and disappeared quickly with her orders.

 

Onofri’s face flushed. “Armando,” he said with quiet menace, “it’s not convenient for me to reschedule.”

 

“What can you do? These things happen.”

 

The old man’s posture exuded threat and resentment, so Ray pulled him into a rough embrace – an _‘I own you’_ gesture. Onofri’s body was stiff with anger. Ray smiled, and pounded his back in an authentically mafia hug.

 

“Get your guys to call my guys,” Ray said, stepping away. “I’ll try to squeeze you in next week, but I can’t make any promises.” Onofri looked furious. Ray stared him in the eyes. “I got my daughter’s funeral on Wednesday.” He hated himself for using Chiara’s death as a trump card in an argument, but even Onofri would back off after that. And if the man had been behind the hit, then Ray had until the funeral to figure it out. Even the Mob respected the death of a child. But whoever had planned to kill Armando must be pretty pissed right now. They’d wait till the decencies were out of the way and then...

 

 _I gotta figure out who’s behind it, and give ‘em to the Feds._ After all, the FBI was as keen to avoid open war as the brothers were.

 

_What if they put the bastard in witness protection, and he never gets punished for his crimes?_

 

That was a nasty thought... _No. They wouldn’t dare. If they don’t put that baby-killer away I’ll walk right outta here, and they know it._

 

Or, as Benny might remind him, _‘You’re a policeman, Ray. Trust the law.’_

 

Well, he had to trust something.

 

He turned his back on Onofri, and started walking, the brothers on either side, the bodyguards falling into step behind. They were in the elevator before Sal allowed himself to crack up laughing. Even the bodyguards were smirking. Ray felt his own mouth twitching in a smile, and then Jackie joined in with his brother. That was it. Ray put his head back against the mirrored wall of the elevator, and started laughing too. For a moment he saw his reflection in the glass, and didn’t know if it was him or Armando, but he couldn’t stop.

 

 _God,_ he realised, as he was coming down from it. _Armando’s on my side again._ He could sense his brother’s presence at his left shoulder, hear his spectral laugh in his head. _Stop that,_ he thought at Armando. _Get out of my head._ Armando didn’t get out, but he did stop laughing. Ray felt the ghost’s approval follow him through the afternoon’s meetings.

 

_He’s never gonna leave me alone._

 

“You okay, Mando?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine Sal.” Ray smiled. The last meeting of the day was finally done. He looked at his one of a kind made-to-order Royal Oak wrist-watch. _Twenty-eight hours,_ he thought, _and still not dead._

 

“I gotta go to the funeral home now.”

 

“Yeah. I know.” Sal laid a big hand on his good shoulder. “Do you want us to come in with you, when you see her?”

 

“Nah,” Ray ducked his head, for the first time today allowing himself to not be the Bookman, though he still had to be Armando. “I gotta do this alone.”

~*~

 

The guy the Feds picked to play the funeral director was every inch the part. Or maybe he really was a funeral director, and just didn’t know that his business was being used as a front by the FBI. Whoever he was, he practically floated across the carpeted lobby and greeted Ray and the Iguanas with unctuous sympathy. That kinda stuff always struck Ray as insincere when it came from real undertakers, let alone guys who might be acting a part. How the hell the FBI got away with this kinda crap was more than Ray could figure.

 

_I’m probably best not knowing. I got enough to worry about._

 

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

 

Armando wouldn’t have bothered making conversation with a suck-up, so Ray was suitably rude. “Yeah, but without it, you’d be out of a job.” He grinned bitterly. “Where is she?”

 

“We have her in the Serenity Room…”

 

“Okay.” Ray pulled out his (Armando’s) rosary. Ma’s was made of olive wood, from Jerusalem. Her parents had saved up and given it to her on her wedding day. She’d prayed with it every day since, had it mended when the links broke. Ray had no idea what Armando’s was made of, other than something shiny, but it sure as hell was more expensive than wood, even from Jerusalem. Didn’t look like it had been prayed with much… or if someone had fixed the links, it was a really good job. He wondered if his brother had actually believed any of it, if he had ever actually prayed, or if it had just been a prop for funerals, appearances on the High Days. Could just be some superstitious thing, what the hell did he know? The idea of an unrepentant murderer  
praying was incredible to him, but he knew that at this juncture everyone would be expecting Armando to make the appropriate social gestures. Besides which, if they thought he was saying his prayers, it gave Ray privacy to meet with the Feds.

 

“Okay, Cuz,” Jackie gave him a hug… more gentle than his usual Heimlich manoeuvre, a fact for which Ray’s shoulder thanked him. “You want us to meet you later, at the hospital?”

 

Ray pretended to think about it. “You probably got other stuff to do,” he said. “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

 

“Sure?” Jackie seemed relieved to be let off the hook.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure. We don’t want people thinking I need a babysitter.”

 

Jackie pulled a face. “Good point,” he said. “Okay then, tomorrow. The accounts are a damn mess. We’re gonna need your help making sense of ‘em.”

 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Jackie laughed. “You know, Armando, you really are a fucking rock star.” He looked suddenly annoyed with himself for saying it. “Yeah, well, tomorrow.” He turned on his heel, and headed out the door.

 

Sal lingered a moment longer. “He’s right, Mando,” he said. “You were amazing today.”

 

“Ain’t I always?”

 

“Yeah.” Sal stepped up, bent down so that his forehead touched Ray’s and closed his eyes. The guy was so big that Ray felt sorta like a kid, when his grandparents were visiting, and Nonno Esposa used to tuck him in at bedtime… that grand-paternal kiss. Safe… which given Sal was a stone cold killer, was really fucking dangerous. “God,” Sal said, and his voice cracked. “I thought we’d lost you.”

 

Ray patted the back of his cousin’s (no, Armando’s cousin’s) head, and ruffled the coarse curls. _At least Armando had some kind of brother, growing up._ “Never,” he said. “You know that.”

 

“Okay.” Sal stood back, blinking hard, and cleared his throat. “Right, I’ll see you later then. You sure you don’t want me to stay? You don’t have to see Chiara alone.”

 

“I know. But I need to.”

 

“I’ll see her tomorrow,” Sal promised. “And we’ve paid for Masses. We’ll get the cards sent over.”

 

“Thanks, Sal.”

 

“’Kay.” Sal stuck his hands in his jacket, and finally made his departure.

 

When the lobby was empty, Ray turned to the funeral director.

 

“Follow me,” the man said.

~*~

 

Cash had a huge smile on his open farm boy face. As Ray stepped in the agent locked the door, and said, “I take it you’re in?”

 

“It would seem so,” Ray said, dryly, not looking at the coffin. He knew it was a prop. The Feds had reassured him that they wouldn’t put him in a room with Chiara’s body until the funeral itself. After what happened the first time they presumably didn’t want him going off his nut. But it still reminded him of his niece’s murder, and he had to keep a clear head. And… oh shit. He was trying not to think about it, but he still had to go to the funeral.

 

“We’ve been keeping an eye on you, of course,” Cash was saying, “but you know surveillance. You can’t get all of it. Okay.” Cash flung himself down in one of the comfortable chairs, gestured for Ray to sit too, and pulled out a tape recorder. He was still grinning, and Ray recognised the expression. Relief. Yeah – Ray was still alive, and Cash was relieved. A little smile pulled at the corner of Ray’s mouth. _You and me both, buddy._ “So,” the agent continued. “They bought the cover story?”

 

“Well, yeah, or I’d not be sitting here, would I?” Cash winced, and Ray shook his head, apologetically. He shouldn’t take it out on this guy. Any other Fed, maybe – but he needed someone on his side, and Cash was the nearest thing he had to a friend in this dump. “Yeah, yeah. They fell for it.”

 

“They saw the wound?”

 

“Yeah. You were right, Jackie wanted to check me out.”

 

“Okay. And I take it they asked questions about where you’d been?”

 

“Yeah.” Ray snorted. He’d been ‘questioned’ over breakfast by the brothers. Well... Sal asked questions. Jackie interrogated him. He’d have made one hell of a good cop. Ray knew Jackie was trying to bully and manipulate him. What he couldn’t figure out was if Sal was in on the double act. Good mobster, bad mobster...

 

_I’m just glad the cover story held._

 

“Listen,” Ray said, feeling ashamed for asking again, but unable to stop himself. “You know they’re gonna check my story. Are you guys sure you got all the bases?”

 

“Yes,” Cash told him. “They’ll send someone to the hunting lodge Armando’s meant to have stayed at, and there will be plenty of evidence you were there, and left in a hurry.” He looked at Ray patiently, as though he hadn’t already explained it twice. “There’s even DNA evidence,” he said, adding a new detail. “The tech guys used some of your blood, from the cosmetic surgery, and there are dressings in the bathroom, so that it looks like you were treated for your wound there.”

 

“DNA evidence. Shit – you think they’d go that far to check Armando’s story?”

 

“They might. And they have the resources to do it.”

 

“Just as well my DNA’s identical to Armando’s then,” Ray said, trying not to sound bitter. He wiped his palms on his trouser legs, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. “And, uhm... the guy. The mortician I said helped me?” _Shit, I forgot his name... thank God that didn’t happen this morning._ “He’s already in witness protection?”

 

“Yes.” Cash looked pleased. “And he’s given us some very useful information – we knew the brothers were using him to dispose of corpses. He’s told us where to find them.”

 

 _So, what do you need me for? You can get ‘em for murder now._ He shook his head at the thought. _It don’t work like that,_ he reminded himself. _They don’t just want to bring in a few guys for murder. They want to bring down the whole rotten system._

 

Cash was still talking. “You told them you’d killed him?”

 

“Yeah.” Ray felt his lip curl in contempt. “And Jackie said, ‘good thinking.’ Don’t you love these guys?”

 

“Well, you can’t choose your family,” Cash replied, straight faced. Ray laughed, and sat back. “So,” Cash said. “We’ve got other questions. Let’s start with Onofri...”

 

Ray talked quickly, sketching in the details that the FBI had missed. _Shit,_ he thought _, how much of this do I have to remember?_ There was more information than he’d realised, even besides the background on the war; mainly names of soldati and associates, though there was some interesting stuff about alliances and who hated whom that they hadn’t known before. So far he’d said little about the Iguana brothers, and Armando was visible now, standing behind Agent Cash, his eyes blazing with fury.

 

 _‘Back off,’_ Ray thought fiercely. He was sick of being intimidated by dead guys, and this one, unlike Pa, couldn’t even talk… not properly. _‘If you don’t let me do my job how am I ever gonna find the guys who murdered you and Chiara? I gotta give ‘em something.’_

 

Armando, tongueless, said nothing, either in his head or out, but Ray could sense his grudging assent. Not that Armando needed to worry yet. So far Ray didn’t have anything on the Iguanas that the Feds didn’t already know. He kept on talking.

 

“Interview concluded at quarter to five, March First, 1997.” Cash clicked off the machine, glanced at the watch again… not as fancy as Ray’s. It was only a Rolex. “Right. We have ten minutes. We’ll get the doctor in here, check out your shoulder and chest. It hasn’t been too sore, has it?”

 

Actually, Ray had been on such an adrenaline buzz that, even though he had been aware of the pain all day, it hadn’t hurt as much as he’d expected. But then, he hadn’t really been shot this time. On the other hand, Cash mentioning it brought it back to his attention, and he realised that it really was damn sore.

 

“It’s fine,” Ray said. “Nothing a rock star can’t handle.”

 

Cash smiled at that. “Good to hear. Okay…” He tapped on an inner door. “You can send her in now.”

 

Ray knew this doctor. She was the grey lady who had attended his identification of Armando. He had seen her several times since, and she refused to make eye contact. He had assumed at first that she was still nervous around him because of his behaviour on that occasion, when Agent Sharma (and ha! he hadn’t seen _him_ around lately) had gloated over the body of Chiara, and Ray attacked the man. But he realised now that she simply didn’t want to get close to an undercover operative. She didn’t even want know his real name. He wondered how many operatives she’d had to do autopsies on when things went wrong. No wonder she kept her distance.

 

“Shirt off, Mr Langoustini,” she said, and put on a stethoscope, started tapping his chest and back, listening to his lungs. “Much better. Still tight, but I think the desert air should help. Let’s see the shoulder.”

 

That was a lot more painful. The blood had crusted to the gauze, and he let out a yelp as she peeled it off. Utterly composed and professional, she examined the wounds then redid the dressing smartly. “Whoever fixed the slipped stitches did a good job,” she observed.

 

“He’s probably had a lotta practice.”

 

“I take it he didn’t realise the wound doesn’t go all the way through?”

 

“I think if he had done he’d have redressed the situation in about seven seconds flat,” Ray answered. Cash glared at him.

 

“Don’t joke about it.”

 

Ray shrugged, then turned to the woman. “Look, don’t worry, Doc,” he said (the doctor also, by her request, being anonymous.) “I think we can safely say that Armando’s cover is intact.”

 

She nodded, refusing to be amused or jollied along with banter. “Well,” she said, pragmatically. “This is all good. How are you sleeping?”

 

“Okay,” he said. “I actually managed twelve last night.” He thought there might have been nightmares, but he couldn’t quite remember.

 

“Twelve?” She looked at him sharply. “Twelve hours?”

 

“Well, yeah. I was catching up.”

 

“That’s worrying,” she muttered. “Your circadian rhythm is well off. You’ll probably find you don’t sleep well tonight.”

 

“Hey, I slept fine…”

 

“Believe me,” she said. “I’ve seen this before. Either you people don’t sleep at all until you crack up completely, or you alternate between extreme insomnia and excessive somnolence, one compensating for the other.”

 

“’You people?’” The woman didn’t seem to register his resentment or his interruption, and carried on as though he hadn’t spoken.

 

“We have to establish a healthy rhythm if you’re going to stay sane. I’m prescribing –”

 

“I don’t need sleeping pills,” Ray snapped, “and I can stay sane all by myself. Besides… what if some bastard tries to whack me in the middle of the night and I can’t get out of bed? What if I talk in my fucking sleep?”

 

“You won’t talk in your sleep,” she told him. “Not with these.”

 

Cash jumped in before Ray could start protesting again. “I know you’re worried, but nobody’s going to climb into that compound and murder you in your bed. They’d never get past your guards, let alone our people.”

 

“Oh yeah? You sure of that? ‘Cause it’s me taking all the risks here.”

 

“Look...” Cash paused, as though looking for the right words. “Recent events, and Hollywood movies notwithstanding, the Mob don’t just run around killing each other willy-nilly. They tried to kill Armando once, and it backfired. They’re not going to try again for a while.”

 

“He’s right,” the doctor agreed. “You’ve got to guard against paranoia, and you’ve got to get some sleep.”

 

Ray folded his arms, and scowled at the woman. She glared right back. “Believe me, you’ll thank me.”

 

“Whatever,” he snarled.

 

She nodded, opened her medical kit, and counted pills into a bottle. “One of each,” she said.

 

“You came here with a stash already?” _Un-fucking-believable._

 

“Well, it’s not the first time I’ve seen this.”

 

Ray said nothing. He had the distinct impression that the Feds thought he was loco. The little problem of him being a lunatic didn’t seem to bother them though. He felt like the only imperfect cog in an otherwise flawless machine. _This is them hitting me with a wrench to get me working again._ He stuck the bottle in his pocket, to shut the doctor up. It didn’t mean he had to take the damn stuff.

 

“Okay, let’s see your hand,” she said, having left the least urgent job till last. Ray held up his left hand, and let her examine his knuckles. She nodded happily. “They’re fine, nicely healed up.” Then she circled both wrists, flipped the hands over, and froze. “Oh God,” she said, staring at his palms. “Whose fault is this?” She looked at Cash, her face tight and frightened. “Seriously, what idiot slipped up on this?” _Shit,_ Ray thought, _she sounds fucking terrified._ He looked at his hands.

 

“What are you talking about?” he asked. “There’s nothing wrong with them…”

 

“I know,” she said. Her voice was still high-pitched and panicked. She turned back to Cash. “Do you people never learn? You’re going to get him killed.”

 

Cash had gone pale. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just assumed they’d sorted it out…” He looked at Ray. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t look at your hands…”

 

“What about my hands?”

 

The doctor took in a deep breath, and let go of his wrists, stepped back and wiped her forehead. She was shaking. “Armando… I mean the Armando before you… he had scars on his hands.”

 

Ray barked a hysterical laugh at the completely wrong image in his head. “What, you mean like… stigmata?” He couldn’t stop it, the horribly blasphemous picture just flashed into his mind, and _oh fuck, that’s funny._ He lifted his unscarred hands and covered his face. Something as distinctive as that, the Mob would notice. He was so screwed. Had somebody noticed already? He’d been laying hands on people all day.

 

“No,” the doctor said. “Not quite, but not far off in the placement. Burn marks. Old, but in the hollow of both hands.”

 

“Burns? How the hell did he get burns?” An ugly memory stirred beneath the surface, and he quashed it.

 

“I don’t know,” the doctor said, “but my best guess is that maybe he was forced to hold a coal.”

 

“I can’t believe we missed this,” Cash said, appalled. “I mean, we told them, I thought they’d sorted it out.” He stood and paced. “It was paper, or card... One of those pictures of saints? It’s part of a mob ritual. When someone’s inducted into the ranks, they hold a burning image of some saint… usually their name saint. The idea is, if they break ranks, then they’ll burn in hell. ‘If I betray you, may my flesh burn like this saint’s.’ I think that’s how it goes.”

 

The doctor looked puzzled. “I wouldn’t have thought that would do it, unless someone forced him to keep hold of it. The automatic response would be to drop it.”

 

“Yeah…” Cash sat back down again, folded his arms tensley. “And that’s part of the Bookman myth. Apparently he didn’t drop it. It just kept on burning, and he just held on.”

 

“Shit,” Ray muttered, passing his hand over his shaved scalp. “What the hell am I gonna do?”

 

“I don’t suppose he could wear gloves, could he?” The doctor didn’t sound at all convinced.

 

Cash shook his head. “Not an option. Everyone knows the story… apart from us, apparently.” He stood up again and turned abruptly, kicked the chair. “Fuck,” he shouted. It was the first time Ray had ever heard him swear. “We could have thought of something… now it’s too damned late.”

 

 _‘You’ll be fine.’_ Armando in his head. _‘I’ll look after you.’_

 

Ray looked up at his brother, and felt that oddly sickening tug of affection… that sense of strange _famiglia,_ despite everything that Armando was. At the very least, Armando wanted him to live until he’d avenged Chiara. He had the feeling Armando didn’t care too much about himself anymore. Perhaps it came with being damned, Ray didn’t know. But he did know that if Armando said he’d care for someone in his family he meant it. His brother smiled, and dropped a chilly hand on his shoulder. Ray leaned back in his chair, and relaxed beneath the phantom touch. He let his fear out with a sigh. For all the man’s sins, he knew he could trust Armando.

 

“It’s okay,” he said, before Cash and the doctor could completely freak out. “I can sort it. Don’t worry.”

 

“You can?” The doctor looked doubtful.

 

“Yeah. Ain’t nobody told you? Armando’s a rock star.”

 

Cash gave him a long, assessing gaze. “Okay then.” He glanced at his watch. “We’re out of time. You’ll be back tomorrow, I take it?”

 

“Yeah,” Ray said, bitterly. “I gotta keep praying for my daughter’s eternal soul.”

 

He stood then, shoved his not injured enough hands into his jacket, and smiled. Showed some fucking moxie. “Sorry guys,” he said. “Gotta leave you now. I got some place to be.”

~*~

 

One of the benefits of great insurance. His son’s… Shit. Armando’s son’s ward didn’t look like it was in a hospital. It looked like a little boy’s bedroom, apart from the machines, and the bodyguard stationed outside the door.

 

Ray sat next to Joey Langoustini’s bed, and took the sleeping child’s hand in his own. _God,_ he thought, and bent over, putting his head on the blanket. _He looks just like little Tony._ Chubbier cheeks, and he had a dimple in his chin, but apart from that… It hit him suddenly… If Pa hadn’t sold Armando to the Mob, his name would have been Giuseppe too. Armando would have been a Joey himself. Maybe, somehow, Armando had known what Ma had called him when he named her grandson.

 

“Pop,” came a little voice, and Ray sat up, spring-loaded.

 

“Joey,” he managed, and squeezed his nephew’s fingers.

 

“Why are there two of you?”

 

Ray turned his head to follow Joey’s gaze, and there, of course, was Armando.

 

If ever Ray had wanted to put his arms around a ghost, it was then. Armando looked broken into pieces.

 

“Don’t cry, Pop,” Joey said, and Ray wasn’t the one crying. “It’ll be alright.”

 

Ray kissed the little boy’s forehead, and brushed back his hair.

 

“Hey,” he told his nephew, “it’s okay. I’m here.”

 

“Okay, Pa,” Joey said, and his eyes were drifting. “Love you.”

 

“I know,” Ray said, and spoke for his brother, and himself. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms (in order of appearance in text)
> 
> un uomo d'onore/uomini d'onori: man of honour, men of honour. A term for members of the Mafia who have been 'made,' or inducted into the ranks.
> 
> Cosa Nostra: 'Our Thing.' Another term for the Mafia.
> 
> fanook: slur for a homosexual.
> 
> moolie: racial slur for non white people - usually black, though sometimes used for other non-Caucasians. 
> 
> paesano: fellow Italian, also 'peasant,' though without such negative connotations as the English word.
> 
> capo bastone: underboss - chief of the captains (capos) and second in command. 
> 
> capofamiglia: head of the family, first in command.
> 
> baciamano: ritual kiss on the hand. The term comes from the religious practice of kissing a bishop's ring.
> 
> consigliere: counsellor - trusted adviser to the Family's inner circle, considered the third in command.
> 
> Ego te absolvo: 'I forgive you,' in Latin, the ritual words of absolution, as granted by a Catholic priest, after confession.
> 
> mi dispiace: I'm sorry.
> 
> un vero Italiano: literally, 'a true Italian,' meaning someone born to Italian parents in Italy, or Sicily.
> 
> la madrepatria: the mother country.


	3. Chapter 3

During the ride back from the hospital, Ray studied his reflection in the window of the limousine. The face staring back at him was painted black against the night. It was unmistakably his own, but the expression was nothing like any of Armando’s. He’d seen his brother looking wretched and unhappy, but he’d never seen him scared.

 

_Maybe he’s just better at hiding it than me._

 

Ray turned away from the troubled image and instead stared at the back of his bodyguard's head. Next to the bodyguard sat the chauffeur, both of them ‘made men,’ both armed to the teeth. Two more _soldati_ followed in another car. Perhaps that kind of protection would have made Armando feel safe.

 

Armando was a powerful man. He must have thought he was invulnerable.

 

_Yeah, well. He was wrong. He was vulnerable alright. And so am I._

 

What was it Cash had said? _‘Nobody’s going to get past your people, let alone ours.’_ He meant well; it wasn’t like the guy was lying to make him feel safe. Cash had faith in the FBI. _Reminds me of a certain Mountie._ Ray smiled for a moment, but he knew it wasn’t true.

 

 _What if one of the guards already saw my hands? They wouldn't have to get past anyone to kill me – they’re right here. Bet the Feds didn’t think of that_.

 

No… they must have thought of that. The probability guys would have played out a thousand scenarios, including that one. Run the numbers, balanced the odds, and decided it was worth the gamble. They just hadn’t told him. _Yeah. Thanks, guys._

 

Ray looked at his hands, clenched on his lap.

 

 _Somebody’s gonna see them._ _Maybe they’ve already seen ‘em._

 

He had to stop being so self–conscious – damn. The way he was holding them was a dead giveaway that something was wrong. He was going to draw attention to himself.

 

He stared at his fists, and willed them to relax. _Come on, you’re alone in the back of a limo. Nobody’s looking at your palms._

 

His hands uncurled and he rested them on his knees.

 

_There. See? Unclenched. You can do it, Vecchio._

 

He looked out the window again and focused on his breathing. _Inhale, exhale_. _Calm down,_ he told himself, and breathed. _In, out._

 

 _See? You're still breathing. It’s not so bad._ He made himself smile at his reflection.

 

When he looked back at his hands, they were clenched again.

 

_Thirty-six hours in, and still not dead._

~*~

 

Here he was again, in Armando’s bedroom. As before, Ray couldn’t sleep.

 

 _Maybe I should try another room,_ he thought. _This one’s haunted._

 

It wasn’t the room; it was him. _Who cares? I’m going to sleep._ The crazy-ass brothers had another early start tomorrow – though at least it wasn’t as bad as five am. _Seven,_ he thought. _I’ve gotta be up at seven._ He glanced at the clock. _Just past midnight. That’s not so bad. You’re tired. You’ll sleep._

 

He couldn’t. He lay staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to come. The house was too silent.   _I wonder how they’re sleeping in Chicago? Never thought I’d miss the sound of Vito teething._

 

When he looked, the clock said three in the morning. _Oh God..._ Ray turned his head away, quickly, because that was right around the time Armando died. _No,_ he corrected himself. _Two hour time difference._

 

He shifted uneasily. _I’ve slept on more comfortable floors than this._ It was the bed, or the mattress... or maybe the damn ceiling pressing down on him. How could Armando stand it? He felt like he was choking.

 

 _Shit..._ He looked at the clock again. _The brothers are going to be here in less than four hours._ _Who does paperwork that early in the morning? And how the hell did they screw it up in less than a month?_ Ray was no Bookman but at least he could count.

 

Okay, so it was half past three now, and he was wide awake. But it wasn’t what the doctor had said, circadian rhythms and that crap. He just couldn’t figure out what to do about his hands. What the hell were the Feebies playing at? They’d obviously seen the scars during the autopsy. What was he supposed to do, wear stage makeup?

 

 _‘Don’t worry,’_ Armando said in his head, his words vivid and clear, like Ray’s own thoughts. _‘I’ll tell you what to do.’_

 

“When?” Ray spoke out loud. He was in his own room, he could do what he liked.

 

_‘When they come for you.’_

 

“Yeah?” _Oh, just great. Now he decides to leave._ “Well, that clears things right up,” Ray told the empty room. “Thanks for that.”

 

It suddenly hit him why he was still awake. He was scared, yeah, but it was more than his hands – he was scared to dream. _What the hell happened last night?_ Before he could remember, he was asleep.

 

_Pa was standing in the lobby of Caesar’s Palace. The place was empty and no music played. There was no happy chatter from the crowds – there were no crowds at all. It was a big golden cave, a hollow maw, and Pa was standing by the fountain all alone._

 

_“This is the life, ain’t it?”_

 

_Shit, Pa was talking to him like a human being for once. It knocked Ray sick._

 

_“You’re dead, Pop, and besides, what did you ever know about life?”_

 

_“You play this right, you’re a made man,” Pa admired the empty grandeur, apparently oblivious to Ray’s tone. “Just give the Feds a little bit of information here and there, string ‘em along. You could wipe out the Onofris, clear the board for the Iguanas.”_

 

_“You can fuck off,” Ray snapped. “You’re not even real. It’s only a dream.”_

 

_Pa turned and his face changed. For a moment there he had been looking pleased with himself. Now he had the more familiar look of rage._

 

_“You don’t get to talk to me like that.”_

 

_“What you gonna do about it? You’re dead.”_

 

_Pa smiled, cruelly. “Not here,” he said, folding his belt into a loop –_

 

Ray bolted upright, screaming. Damned if the backs of his thighs and everything else didn’t sting from the belt. “Sorry, Pa...” He couldn’t stop shaking. He put his hand on his chest, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it was knocking against his ribs. “Ah…” he sucked in breath. “God.”

 

Armando was sitting at the foot of the bed.

 

Ray flinched when he saw him, then glared. “Do you have to do that?” He rubbed his face with his hands. “I mean, you could try knocking. Or you know, how about you rattle some chains?”

 

Armando seemed unimpressed with Ray’s humour.

 

“How about ‘woooh?’” Ray grabbed the pillow, started punching it into shape. This was as bad as when Pa turned up, the week after his funeral. Ray had been sure that he’d lost his mind. And then, at some point, he’d become so used to the damn ghost he took it for granted. _Jeez,_ he thought. _I’m getting used to Armando. I’m talking to him like we’ve known each other all our lives._ He looked at his brother. “Next time, try going, ‘woooh.’ Give a man some warning?” He shook his head. “As if Pa ain’t bad enough.”

 

Ray didn’t know if Pa had been just a dream, but damn, it felt real. At least the memory of the belt had faded, and his back, from the waist down to the knees, wasn’t stinging anymore.

 

“Hey,” he laughed at a sudden thought. “If you’re gonna intimidate someone, you thought of scaring the Old Man? I mean, you gotta hold a grudge. Take it out on him. I’m just trying to get some sleep here.” He lay back down, and closed his eyes. Okay, so technically it was morning, but he’d not had much sleep, and the Iguanas weren’t due to arrive before seven. He could manage an hour, surely...

 

There was a cold touch on his shoulder just as he was dropping off. Ray opened his eyes, and stared up into his brother’s inscrutable face.

 

_‘Now.’_

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Ray groaned. “I guess that means ‘no rest for the wicked?’”

 

Armando got up, and walked to the door. Ray rolled his eyes, and swung out of bed. Followed.

 

“What am I doing in the kitchen,” he asked the ghost. Armando pointed to the window sill. A pillar candle and, next to it, a lighter, a lamp and some paraffin.

 

Ray had a bad feeling. It’s not like he hadn’t considered that as a solution for all of five seconds but...

 

“Hey, that’s gonna really fucking hurt.”

 

Armando shrugged, his gesture saying, _‘So?’_

 

“What the hell are you thinking? This ain’t gonna fool anybody. They’ll look at it and know it’s recent.”

 

 _‘Trust me,’_ the not-voice said.

 

“Shit,” Ray groaned. This was Armando’s idea of looking after him?

 

The ghost was walking again and despite his reservations Ray grabbed the paraffin and lighter, and followed him. Followed him all the way to the pink door.

 

Chiara’s bedroom. _I can’t go in there_ … He closed his eyes. _Don’t be such a fucking pussy._ _If Armando can bear it, so can I._

 

His brother was standing in the middle of the room, looking at the pictures on the wall. Kiddy scribbles, framed like Picassos. A big old rocking horse on gliders. Family photos. Ray turned from the images of his brother’s family, and looked instead at the little girl’s bed. It was a four–poster, pink, with lace curtains. For a moment he flashed on the image of Chiara, bouncing on it, squealing and giggling, being chased by little Joey.

 

_‘Look.’_

 

Armando was pointing at a picture. In it, he was holding a baby in his arms, smiling so hard and so proud it must have hurt his face. Chiara, one day old.

 

“What? What do you want me to do?” Ray asked, although he already knew. Armando continued to point. With only that for an answer, Ray found himself walking toward the image. He took the photo from the frame, as though in a trance.

 

He knew what was coming. He felt it in his head.

 

Armando stepped inside. He poured the paraffin on the photo, crumpled it, and laid it on Ray’s left hand.

 

 _What am I doing, why am I doing this?_ Ray was shaking. _I don’t want to do this..._

 

Armando flicked the lighter. The photo flared up and… Ray’s hands folded together as he dropped to his knees. He was a supplicant, swearing his devotion to the cause. Ray kneeled, the image of Armando and his saint pressed between his palms. He kneeled and let them burn.

~*~

 

He must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, the brothers were bundling him through some guy’s front door.

 

“What the hell?” _Oh, fuck. Did I just set fire to myself?_

 

“The doc’s gonna look at you Cuz. Sit the fuck down, and let him do his thing.”

 

Doctor Simmon’s hair, so white it was almost transparent, clung to his head like cobwebs. The brothers had got him out of bed before he’d had a chance to get dressed or even put in his teeth. He seemed unfazed though, like it was perfectly normal to have mobsters pile in unannounced, take over his living room and demand medical treatment.

 

He didn’t ask questions, just examined Ray’s hands, expressionlessly, before starting to dress them, and giving instructions.

 

“Change the dressings every day,” he said, in a reedy voice. “You’ll want to use sustained silver release gauze to prevent infection, and the first sign of swelling, come back immediately.”

 

“Okay.” _God, what the hell was I thinking?_

 

“Your left hand’s worse. It’s hard to tell how deep it went.” The doctor tightened the bandage, and Ray bit off a curse. “If you look after it, it’ll take about three weeks to heal. Longer than that, see a specialist. The skin will be fragile, so don’t tear it.”

 

“I’ll try not to,” Ray gritted out.

 

The doctor nodded, then continued. “Splint up the left hand at night to stop the fist contracting. And I want you to do these stretches.” He took Ray’s hand by the wrist and pushed the fingers straight _._ Ray bit his lip. “Can you remember all that?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks Doc.”

 

“Stop doing this every twenty years,” the man said, bitterly. “I won’t be here next time.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind –” Ray stopped. It hit him. Doctor Simmons had been treating the Iguanas, father and son, for fifty years. If the man was someone the brothers trusted, their father trusted, what about Ricardo Langoustini? This guy might actually know that he – that – Armando, had been bought.

 

Shit. He _did_ know. Had to… Someone had helped Langoustini fake his wife’s pregnancy, forge medical documents. If anyone was going to realise Ray wasn’t Armando, this was the guy.

 

_Don’t panic._

 

“Are you alright, Cuz?” Jackie was watching him closely.

 

“Yeah. Yeah…” Ray shook his head to clear it and smiled.

 

“Good.” The doctor sat back on his couch and closed his eyes. “Given your history, I can only recommend ibuprofen for the pain. Keep them elevated whenever possible.” He shrugged. “I know it doesn’t look good, but keep the left hand in a sling.”

 

The doctor was right. This wasn’t a good time to look weak. Not a good time to _be_ weak.

 

“See you tomorrow, Armando.”

 

“See you tomorrow, Doc.”

~*~

 

Jackie was driving, because ‘you couldn’t trust the chauffeurs with this shit.’ Sal had insisted on letting Ray sit up front, buckling his seatbelt for him, before taking the back. Nobody was speaking. Ray kept his head turned to the side window, watching the desert flow past.

 

 _Fuck... that’s twice the Feds nearly got me killed with poor planning_. First the thing with the hands, now this. If the doctor had seen the ‘gunshot’ wound he would never have been fooled for a minute. He’d have remembered Armando was a twin, realised Ray wasn’t who he said he was, and Ray would be dead.

 

“Why didn’t we tell Doc Simmons I’d been shot?”

 

“Shit.” Jackie pulled up on the side of the road. “Do we need to?”

 

“No, course not. I’d say something if it was playing up. What do you think I am? A masochist?”

 

Jackie shot him a look loaded with contempt. “I think you’re a fucking mental patient.”

 

 _Oh God. This ain’t good_. Contempt from Jackie – from any mobster – was not good at all. Ray glanced over his shoulder. Sal was slumped, dejectedly, taking over most of the back seat. When he saw Ray looking, his body language changed instantly. He straightened and gave Ray an encouraging smile.

 

“Mando’s okay,” he said, cheerfully, “ain’t you Mando?”

 

Sal was feeling sorry for him; no _humouring_ him. That was worse than Jackie’s contempt.

 

 _Thanks a lot, Bro,_ he thought at Armando – wherever he was. _Great plan you had there._

 

As if things weren’t bad enough. Now he had to get the brothers to trust him again. In their different  ways, and for their different reasons, they’d both be watching him for any sign of weakness. _Shit..._

 

“’Mando’s okay,’” Jackie mimicked his brother and sneered. “Just what we need – a fucking lunatic as an accountant.”

 

Ray refused to rise to Jackie’s tone, and made himself laugh. It sounded pretty damn natural. “Let’s keep that to ourselves,” he said. “No, I just wondered why we didn’t call the doc yesterday.”

 

Jackie started the car up again. “You know what he’s been like since the last bout of chemo. He’s only got a couple of months left, and now he thinks everyone else is dying too.”

 

The doctor was dying? Now that Ray thought of it, the guy did look like he was on his last legs. _Good,_ Ray thought, venomously. _I hope it fucking hurts._ All he could feel was spite and satisfaction. That old man helped ruin his brother and break Ma’s heart. Besides – with Simmons dead, Ray would be that bit safer. There would be nobody left who knew about Armando.

 

Jackie was still talking. “If we told him you’d been shot, he’d want to get you checked out at the hospital. Old men overreact to everything.”

 

“Yeah. How about Onofri,” Ray chuckled. “You see the look on his face yesterday?”

 

Jackie almost smiled, relaxing just a fraction. He was still tense, but for the first time all morning he didn’t look angry.

 

“Hey,” Sal quipped from behind him. “At least the old bastard got a good meal out of it.”

 

Ray looked in the rear view mirror. Armando was riding in the back next to Sal. It was weird, but the way Sal was sitting, it almost seemed he could see his cousin. His arm was slung out along the top of the car seat, as though he was resting it on the the ghost’s shoulders.

 

 _‘See,’_ thought Armando, meeting Ray’s eyes in the mirror. _‘I said I’d look after you.’_

~*~

 

Things calmed down after that. The day felt almost ordinary. They went to Jackie’s compound and Ray went over the accounts.

 

“Sorry, Mando,” Sal said, as Jackie opened the safe. “I know they live in your office, but when you went missing we tried to do what we could, and... uhm.” He looked at Jackie, and cleared his throat. “Well, you’ll see.”

 

Ray did see. The accounts were a damn mess. It wasn’t Armando’s fault: the handwriting changed a few weeks ago, and whoever it was seemed to have trouble with numbers. Ray looked at the scribblings, then back at the brothers.

 

Jackie went red and tried to cover his obvious embarrassment with his trademark scowl.

 

Ray tried not to smirk. At least he knew he was smarter than Jackie at something.

 

 _Don’t get too cocky,_ Ray reminded himself. _You don’t know if you can make sense of it yet..._ He spread the papers out clumsily with his best hand, preparing for the biggest bluff so far. _Fake it till you make it,_ he encouraged himself silently, and bent over the accounts.

 

“Wow,” he said, staring at his brother’s handwriting.

 

“That bad?” Sal sounded nervous. Jackie stomped off to the liquor cabinet.

 

“No, no...” Ray smiled reassuringly. _It’s damn freaky, that’s all. We even write the same way._

Not quite identically. Armando’s was neater – fussy, but close enough for Ray to imitate. He just had to slow down and pretend a nun was going to smack him if it was too scruffy.

 

 _I should get started,_ he thought. _Shit... where?_ Ray looked at the accounts and felt a reluctant pride at his brother’s meticulous work. _Wow, that’s one organised mobster._

 

Armando had been confident enough that he had used a pen. Seemed he didn’t worry about needing to erase things and start again. _Shit, that’s gonna be a hard act to follow. I barely got through college._

 

What with night shifts at the canning factory and family drama, Ray was surprised he finished at all.Even now he could hear the Old Man, yelling up the stairs: _‘You're a fucking loser. You’ll never amount to anything.’_ In the end, he only got through finals to prove Pa wrong.

 

Armando, on the other hand, had gone to ‘La Sapienza’ in Rome – which Ray had never heard of, but apparently meant his brother was really, really smart.

 

 _Jeez... I’m in way over my head._ Math had never been Ray’s favourite subject at school. He hadn’t liked the teachers, they hadn’t liked him. He’d never seen the point of quadratic equations and all that crap. He could do basic accounts though, nothing to it. In fact, he’d even considered accountancy as a career, studied it at college for a while, before he decided to do what he really wanted for once, and be a cop. To hell with the Old Man.

 

“What you staring at, Cuz?” Jackie perched on the edge of the table. Ray shifted slightly, moving away from the smell of the man’s bourbon. “You forgotten how to read?”

 

“No, no.” Ray had heard Armando talking numbers. The Feds had caught him and a Mexican counterpart on tape. Ray found himself imitating his brother’s intonation – absent and professorial. Not like Ray at all – not even like Armando, in any other context. “Everything’s fixable.”

 

 _Yeah, right. I’m the king of all bullshitters._ Ray’s face was schooled, but his heart sank. He could read the numbers fine, but the columns were peppered with... well... squiggles. His brother had used a code.

 

 _Fuck’s sake. How am I going to figure out what they’ve been buying, or who their customers are?_ Yet another thing he hadn’t been prepared for – of course the damn accounts would be encrypted. Why hadn’t anyone thought of that? What did they think he was? A code breaking supercomputer?

 

 _I’ll just go slow._ It wouldn’t look good if the Bookman couldn’t read his own ledger, but the brothers didn’t understand it either. _They won’t know if I fuck up – not immediately anyway._ He took a deep breath to steady himself.

 

“Okay,” he said. “You guys had better tell me what’s been happening.” He prodded at a date three weeks back. “We’ll figure out what’s gone wrong from there.”

 

Fortunately, there was a method to Armando’s madness. Working backward from what the brothers told him, and making a few lucky guesses, Ray was surprised to find that he could tease out the meanings behind most of the symbols.

 

 _That one doesn’t need much interpreting._ All those weird signs and down near the bottom, after a particularly successful transaction, a smiley face. Ray chuckled.

 

“Where’s the cash-flow statement for December?”

 

“Uhm... somewhere.”

 

“Jackie! How can you have lost it already? It was two months ago!” Okay, in the real world Ray was always drowning in paperwork, but that was Ray. At this point, the Bookman would be mightily pissed. Ray glared. Jackie folded his arms, bullishly, said nothing.

 

“Don’t worry, Mando. It’s in here somewhere.” Sal started rifling through folders. “I saw it earlier.”

 

“God’s sake, why didn’t you just hire another accountant?”

 

The brothers went still.

 

“What?” Ray stared at the silent men.

 

“You would think it’s that easy,” Jackie said with a snort. “You stupid fuck.” He pushed himself off the table, and got another drink. Sal looked at at Ray, as though disappointed.

 

“You know better than that, Mando.”

 

 _What did I say wrong?_ It was a good question. Why _hadn’t_ they hired someone else? Armando couldn’t be the only bad guy in Vegas who could count.

 

 _You idiot, Vecchio,_ he thought as he carried on working. _Of course they couldn’t hire just anybody._ Sure there were people out there who could do the job – people who would jump at the chance. Given time, the brothers would have found another _consigliere,_ assuming they survived the fallout of Armando’s death. Ray could think of several good candidates for the job – one lawyer, in particular, stood out from the herd. So, yeah – they could have found a beancounter, they could have found an advisor. All the Families had accountants and consiglieri, after all. And consiglieri were trustworthy, by definition, or no–one would survive.

 

The Iguanas had the Bookman. That was what set them apart. Armando was more than trustworthy; he was devoted. He would have done anything for his cousins. Shit, the man was dead and he was still trying to protect them.

 

_What am I meant to do now? Apologise?_

 

He shook his head at the thought. _Well, that would be stupid. Like Armando would apologise for anything._ It would blow over if he kept his mouth shut.

 

It did. Jackie sat back on the table, like nothing had happened.

 

“Here you go, Cuz,” he said, putting a drink by Ray’s elbow.

 

“Thanks,” Ray said, and took a sip, to show there were no hard feelings. Jackie visibly relaxed, and Ray went back to the accounts.

 

By the time he’d sorted everything into chronological order, Ray realised that his brother was in his head, had been for a while. _Hey Mando,_ he thought. _You come to help me with my homework?_ Armando settled in and started shifting numbers and symbols. _Better not tell the Feds I’ve got a ghost in my skull – they’ll put me in a padded cell._ It was equal parts comforting and terrifying to know Armando was helping maintain his cover. Of course, he wasn’t just doing this for Ray. He was trying to help his cousins.

 

“See here,” Ray pointed. “Looks like someone’s been holding back.” The _caporegimes_ and associates brought their revenue directly to the _capo bastone._ He couldn’t see how Jackie had missed it. _Give the man a break. Poor bastard was distracted._ “Starts almost three weeks ago,” he added. “When I disappeared. Income drops by fifteen percent.That’s a hell of a lot.”

 

“What fucker did that?” Jackie took a swallow of his drink.

 

 _‘The Greek,’_ Armando whispered. Absently Ray repeated it. “The Greek.” Next time Ray saw that sigma sign, he’d remember what it meant. Okay, so, he didn’t know the name of this Greek, but the brothers would. He fished around and tried to ask Armando, but his brother had moved on, juggling figures in his head. This was making him dizzy…

 

“Piece of shit,” Sal growled, staring at the accounts. “Who’d a thought he’d dare?” His face was clenched with anger. “He musta thought you weren’t coming back, and he could take advantage.”

 

“Well, he’ll have to pay up now,” Jackie said. “By God, we’ll make him pay.”

 

Ray looked at the Iguanas, and felt a cold clutch of fear. Somehow, as they’d been working, he’d forgotten that the brothers weren’t his family. He’d just been catching up on paperwork, stopped thinking about what the numbers represented.

 

 _Oh God, I shouldn’t have said anything. They’re gonna kill this guy._ There were a lot of Greeks dealing with the Iguanas – he had to figure out who this one was. A bad guy obviously. Judging by the brother’s reaction it seemed unlikely that the man was going to survive the week. If he did, he might wish that he hadn’t.

 

There was nothing Ray could do about it now. He’d pass the information onto Cash, and hopefully the Feds would do something – but if the Iguanas wanted to play hardball, Ray had to play right alongside. He shrugged. “Like I say. You don’t want to mess with us.”

 

“Yeah, well by the time we’re done, everyone’s gonna be real clear on that.” Jackie stood, and stretched. “Come on. Time for a break. We need to show our faces.”

 

Ray nodded and stood, glad to escape from the vicious turn of conversation. Not just that, but eager to get to the gig, do something completely innocent for a change. He looked at his sling, regretfully. His hand was a lot more comfortable when it was elevated, throbbed less, but he had appearances to think of. “I’d better lose this.”

 

“Nah,” Jackie said, with a wolfish smile. “I thought how we can work it to our advantage.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Sal looked doubtful. “And how’s that?”

 

“Just tell the truth. The Bookman got shot.” Jackie rubbed his hands in anticipation. “And then he came back to town like the Terminator. If that don’t scare ‘em, nothing will.”

~*~

 

“Hey, Armando!” One of Onofri’s _soldati_ must have spotted them because he was swaggering over to their table from the far side of the club. He looked smug.

 

_Must think he’s found a weak spot._

 

“Heard you were back in town. What happened there?” Onofri’s guy gestured at the sling. “You have an accident?”

 

“Nah,” Ray made a dismissive gesture with his right hand, and the other man followed the bandage with his eyes. “Got shot.”

 

The guy – _shit, what’s he called?_ – stopped staring at Ray’s bandaged hand and gaped at the sling instead. Apparently it wasn’t quite the done thing to try to whack someone twice in the same month. “Really? When was this, sometime last night?”

 

Ray stared at him like he was a particularly dense six year old. “I thought you knew someone tried to take me out. When the car flipped, back when they killed Chiara.”

 

“But that was weeks ago…” Onofri’s guy was fixated on the sling. “Why’s it strapped up now?”

 

“Well, you know how it is. You leave town for a few days, whole place goes to hell. I had a lot to do yesterday. Didn’t have time.”

 

“You didn’t have time to… fuck’s sake, you were shot.”

 

“Saw a horse doctor when it happened, got him to stitch me up.” Ray grinned at the man’s discomfiture. “It’s not that bad, it was a through-and-through.”

 

The man swallowed. “What about your hands?”

 

“These? Oh yeah… burned ‘em in the crash. Again.” Ray laughed. “Doctor saw ‘em this morning, thought I should keep ‘em bandaged, just in case they got infected. They’ll be okay.”

 

“Oh. Well… glad to hear it. And sorry about…” He stared again at the bandages. “Sorry about everything. I mean… I was sorry to hear about Chiara too.”

 

Ray nodded at the empty apology. Philip, he remembered.

 

“Yeah, thanks Phil. Hey, you see Pietro, tell him ‘hi.’”

 

“Yeah,” Philip grinned, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. “I’ll do that.”

 

“He will too,” Sal muttered as the man walked away. “Onofri’s gonna shit bricks, and the story’ll be all over Vegas before Ray’s finished his first set.”

 

Ray flinched automatically at the sound of his own name, then felt a tingle of anticipation running up his spine – the first honestly good feeling all day. This was one thing he’d been looking forward to, ever since the brothers mentioned it partway through the accounts. Hot damn. Their table was so close he’d probably be able to smell the guy’s sweat. _Ray Charles… holy crap._ _I’m here at a private showing to see Ray Charles._

 

When Brother Ray walked into the room with his wraparound sunglasses and trademark smile everyone – the film producer and his latest starlet, the beautiful people, the celebrities and backstage players, even the hardened racist mobsters at his side – started applauding.

 

Ray couldn’t clap, so he just stamped his feet instead, like the big guy would when he got into it at the piano.

 

 _Maybe this job has its perks after all…_ and then ‘Brother Ray’ was singing: ‘Let the Good Times Roll…’

~*~

 

The Iguanas were supposed to have full schedules for the rest of the day. Sal had planned to meet with the lawyers about building regulations; work had already started on the new casino and some jackass at the City Council was still objecting. Jackie’s _caporegimes_ were due to visit him _,_ and submit their tribute. It was already two days late – normally taxes were paidon Friday.

 

Instead, both Sal and Jackie insisted on following Ray to the hospital.

 

It wasn’t a good sign. _They’re babysitting me. Oh, crap._

 

When they stepped into the room, Joey was still half out of it on painkillers. Armando was already there, sitting on the bed.

 

“Hey Joey,” Ray smiled at his nephew. _Poor kid._

 

“Hey, Pa.” The boy blinked at him, his gaze unfocused, then looked back at Armando. “There’s two of you again.”

 

 _Oh, great. Right in front of the brothers._ The last thing Ray wanted was for someone to put the idea of Armando having a double in their heads, even if that double was a little boy’s imaginary friend. Who knew where that idea might lead?

 

 _Bit late now._ He sat next to Joey and took his hand. The little boy started giggling, passing his other hand through his father’s ghost. “Cool, how do you do that?” He looked back at Ray. “You’re there and you’re there. Wish I could do that.”

 

Ray swallowed, and looked at the brothers. Sal was wearing his cheerful ‘nothing is wrong’ face – the one he’d been humouring Ray with all day. Jackie’s mouth was pinched. He made a face and Ray realised he was trying to smile.

 

“Hey kid,” he said. “What they got in that drip? Bourbon? Got you seeing double.”

 

Joey laughed. “No. It’s Sally stuff,” he said.

 

“Nothing wrong with you, kid,” Sal said. “You know that medical mumbo jumbo. Hey – maybe you could be a doctor when you grow up. Clever enough, ain’t he Mando?”

 

“Yeah,” Ray said, feeling his brother radiate pride. “He is that.”

 

“I want to be a _soldato_.” The boy shuffled a little. “Where’s Chiara?”

 

“She’s...” Ray’s voice dried up.

 

“Did she get hurt?”

 

Sal squatted by the bed, took his nephew’s hand. “Chiara’s fine, Joey. She’s in a real nice place, and she doesn’t hurt anymore.”

 

“That’s good.” Joey pouted. “Hurting sucks big balls.”

 

Ray choked on laughter. It shouldn’t be funny, but…

 

“Don’t say that in front of your Ma,” Sal told him. For a moment he looked stern, then his eyes crinkled in a smile.

 

“Bullshit,” Joey snickered. “It’s not my fucking fault. You taught me to say it.”

 

“Got you there, Sal,” Jackie said. “Can’t argue with that.”

 

“Yeah, can’t fucking argue with that, Uncle Sal.”

 

 _God, Ma would hate this._ Ray knew all children swore, and he swore himself when he was stressed. _These days that’s all the fucking time, ha!_ But he didn’t curse in front of the children. _Maybe I’m a hypocrite,_ he thought, _but Joey’s only six._

 

Despite everything, his nephew was a nice kid. When Joey’s dinner arrived he insisted on sharing every other bite with Ray, spoon-feeding him like he was the Pa, and Ray was the baby. Armando was smiling, and stroking Joey’s hair.

 

“Remember when you did this for Chiara?” Joey said to the ghost, and the spoon missed Ray’s mouth.

 

“Sorry, Pop.”

 

“S’alright, Son.”

 

“I got some on your tie.”

 

“Doesn’t matter.”

 

Joey nodded, suddenly drowsy. “I wanna go to sleep.”

 

On the way out, Sal put a hand on Ray’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mando,” he said. “Most of the time he seems fine, then he starts seeing things. The doctors don’t know if it’s trauma or brain damage.” He looked embarrassed. “I kinda thought he was seeing a ghost.”

 

“You’re too superstitious,” Jackie mocked him.

 

“Yeah? What do you call this morning?”

 

“What about this morning?” Ray asked.

 

“Oh.” Jackie rolled his eyes. “Sal got it stuck in his head that you were in some kinda trouble, phoned me up and told me to get my ass over pronto.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Sal muttered, and didn’t look at anyone. “I was right.”

 

Ray shuddered. His dead brother had way too much power. He jerked his head in a nod and changed the subject.

 

“How were Joey’s MRI scans?” Sal was listed as Armando’s next of kin, and during his absence had been _in loco parentis_ for Joey, a fact which could hardly have endeared him to Lexie, though at least the poor woman was allowed to visit her son.

 

“They don’t know yet, Mando. The swelling’s gone down, and it doesn’t look too bad, but you saw how he is. It might get better, but it’s too soon to say.”

 

 _How am I gonna cope when Joey comes home? I don’t know how to be a father._ He’d have to deal with Joey’s mother for a start.

 

And there she was, frozen in the hospital lobby as though she’d been conjured up. Ray stopped and his heart dropped to his boots. She was terrified of him. _There’s my answer..._

 

He accepted his brother had been all sorts of criminal, everything from thief to murderer, but he hadn’t realised how much he’d been hoping Armando wasn’t like Pa. Part of him had foolishly hoped that despite everything, his brother didn’t beat his wife.

 

_Yeah. But he does. He did. Look at her._

 

The worst of it was, if he let her, Lexie would come back now for Joey’s sake. And Ray could feel it, aching in the back of his head – Armando loved her, but he wanted her to suffer.

 

 _‘Well, go then.’_ A fragment of an old argument rose in his mind, Armando shouting, and the crack of his hand across her cheekbone. _‘But if you want to see the kids again, you’re coming back.”_

_‘You piece of shit,’_ Ray thought, appalled that the man had hit her, that he could use his own children to blackmail his wife.

 

 _‘She left me no choice,’_ Armando whispered in his head, blaming the victim like any other abuser. _‘It was her fault, she left me. How could the bitch leave me? I would never have left her.’_ Ray felt his stomach turn over. What, he was supposed to feel sorry for the guy?

 

Lexie’s eyes were cast down, afraid to meet her husband’s gaze. What Lexie felt for Armando, other than fear, was a mystery.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, quietly. “I didn’t realise you’d be here.”

 

“It’s okay, Lexie.” If the brothers criticised him for being polite to her, he’d just say he hadn’t wanted to make a scene in public. “You don’t need to ask my permission.”

 

She looked at her feet. “I’m sorry about… when you came back. I wasn’t thinking properly, and… I didn’t know you’d been hurt. I just thought you’d run off and left them.”

 

“He tried to save her, you know,” Sal loomed. “They were shooting at him, and he still picked her up and ran.”

 

“Yes,” Lexie said, in a small voice. “I just heard that you’d been shot.”

 

“I’m okay, Lexie.”

 

She looked back up at him, timidly, taking stock of his injuries, then scared the shit out of him by standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. _She’s gonna know..._ Her lips brushed the corner of his mouth, and he stepped back. She ducked her head, seeming scared by her own audacity, and left for Joey’s sideward. Ray stared at her retreating figure.

 

“Don’t fall for her again,” Jackie warned him. “She does this to you all the time. Walks out, walks back, and you let her walk all over you.” He snorted. “You and Sal with your fairy-tale romances. Time you woke up. Both your wives left you.”

 

Sal rounded on his brother, and dropped his voice, menacingly. “Margarita’s safer in Italy.”

 

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Sal.” Jackie was in a foul mood, spoiling for a fight.

 

“It’s better for the kids,” Sal smiled. They were in public after all. “And I was right. Look what happened to Mando’s little girl. You just saw Joey. So I hate that Margarita’s not here. But she’s where I tell her to be, and she comes when I damn well say.” Sal stepped a little bit too close to Jackie, and roughened his tone. _Fuck, that guy’s big_. “She’s not left me, okay? She’s just…” his eyes went cold. “She’s just not here.”

 

Jackie obviously realised that he’d gone too far. He moved back a fraction, and slapped his brother’s arm, like they were messing around. “Okay, Sal. I’m a dick. You’re right. They’re safer away from here, especially now.”

 

“Yeah.” Sal nodded, returning to his usual milder persona. “And besides, the kids get to learn the language.”

 

Ray was sure that neither brother had really backed down, but for now it would have to do.

 

“Okay,” Ray sighed. “Gotta go see Chiara.”

 

“We’re sticking with you this time,” Jackie said. “We’ll sit outside if you like, but when you’re done, you’re coming home with one of us.”

 

“Yeah, okay. Though you know you can trust me to –”

 

“No, we can’t,” Jackie snapped, then added more calmly. “Just for a while.”

 

“Okay.” Ray’s heart sank. The next few days were going to be hard if the only minutes he had without the Iguanas looking over his shoulder were when he was on the can or supposedly ‘praying’ for Chiara. He hoped Cash could figure out a plan to help him cope with this.

~*~

 

Ray stepped into the room and froze for a moment. Agent Cash was glaring at him. He looked furious.  

 

_What the hell did I do now?_

 

Cash didn’t say anything, and he didn’t pull out the tape recorder. He just stared at Ray’s hands and shook his head.

 

The back door opened and they were joined immediately by the woman Ray was now thinking of as ‘Doctor Grey,’ similarly grim looking. She grabbed Ray by the good shoulder and propelled him to a chair.

 

“Hands,” she said, opening her medical kit. “Show me.”

 

“Do we have to do this? I’ve already seen a doctor.”

 

“Show me.”

 

Damn. He slid the left hand out of its sling, and extended it, turning his head away as she examined it.

 

“Okay.” She started dressing the whole thing up again. “You’ll need to do some stretches…”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Doctor Simmons showed me. Like this.” Wincing, he demonstrated. “And don’t worry,” he reassured her, “I’ve been doing them on and off all day.”

 

“That’s good. And you know about the dressing, and keeping it elevated, and –”

 

“Yeah. I got all that. Keep it clean and covered, and wear a splint at night.”

 

“Good. Now the other one.”

 

The other one, as Doc Simmons had said, wasn’t as bad. She gave a relieved sigh. “Good. Maybe a week for that one before the bandage comes off.”

 

“Okay,” Cash butted in, speaking for the first time since he’d entered the safe room. “We need some answers, and don’t lie to us, it won’t help.”

 

Ray stared at him, startled by his tone. “What? Why would I lie?”

 

“Yesterday,” Cash said, “we managed to get some bugs in Langoustini’s house. Nero called a company to come and repair the game room. We intercepted the call, got it through to our guys so we could send in a team to do it.”

 

Ray smirked. Sometimes the FBI were clever bastards after all. When they came to fix the damage, Armando’s butler just opened the door and let them waltz right in.

 

“Well, that’s great, isn’t it? It means you’ll get anything they say in the house immediately, you won’t have to wait till you can see me.”

 

“Exactly.” Cash stared, pointedly. _“Anything_ you say.”

 

“What’s the problem?”

 

“You were talking to yourself this morning.”

 

“Oh.” Shit… he’d almost forgotten about that. “I was half asleep.”

 

“You were talking to Armando. And your father.”

 

Ray gritted his teeth. _Just what I need. If they didn’t think I was a maniac before they’ll be damn sure of it now._

 

“The thing with my father was just a nightmare,” he said. “And anyway…” he added, glancing at the doctor. “You were both there when I saw Armando’s body. There’s no way I could have known how he died if he… if his ghost wasn’t real. You get that, don’t you?”

 

He realised even as the words left his mouth that he’d said the wrong thing. _Why the hell did I tell them that? They don’t believe this shit._

 

‘Doctor Grey’ and Agent Cash shared a glance that Ray wished he couldn’t read. _Just like Jackie and Sal, this morning. Oh God. These guys are gonna humour me too._

 

Cash’s voice sounded tired as he spoke. “I don’t know.” He wasn’t looking at Ray. “I mean… maybe. Maybe it was just some twin thing. But the problem is, if you talk to it… him… whatever it is, and the Iguanas hear, they really are going to think you’ve lost it. They might kill you, they might not. Either way, you’re not going to be safe.”

 

“Safe?” Ray’s voice sharpened – he didn’t know if it was anger or fright. “You guys nearly killed me yesterday. All those fucking mobsters kissing the back of my hand. Thank God I didn’t do something stupid like, I don’t know...” He lifted his hand and waved by way of an example. “Anybody could have seen my hands were okay. It’s a miracle I’m here.”

 

Cash conceded Ray’s point. “We know,” he said, “and if it’s any consolation, we’ve found out who’s responsible. Nothing like this is going to happen again.” He sighed. “The thing is,” he returned to topic, “you can’t talk to yourself. Not the way you did last night. The brothers are obviously worried about you as it is. You need their confidence to do your job properly.”

 

“I know that,” Ray growled. “I’m not stupid.”

 

Cash sat opposite Ray. “I never thought you were. But if Nero or one of the staff hears you, and someone starts gossiping, then you’re in real trouble.”

 

“I don’t suppose I could just go home, could I?” _Oh God, I’m pathetic._ Cash looked away.

 

“If it was up to me…” He shook his head. “But it’s not. You know how far they went to get you to do this. They’ve burned through the budget setting this thing up. They’re not about to let you stop now.”

 

Ray gave a bitter laugh. “Even though I’m obviously insane?”

 

The doctor cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Mr Langoustini, but even if I told them that you were suicidal, I don’t think they’d pull you out now. Not,” she hastened to add, “that I think you’re suicidal.” She stared at his hands. “Self-harm is usually a very bad sign, but in this instance it was probably the only thing you could do to preserve your cover.”

 

“So why are you two looking at me like I’m loony toons?”

 

“Because you scared us half to death!” Cash ran a shaking hand through his hair.

 

 _Fuck,_ Ray thought, _I really did scare him._

 

“You should have seen the techs this morning listening in.” The man closed his eyes and blew out a breath in a whoosh. “Okay,” he said, sounding calmer. “When we get out of here, myself and Doctor… the Doc here, we’ll tell them you were talking to yourself as a coping mechanism, because you knew it was going to hurt, but you’ll be okay. Otherwise they’re going to micromanage this whole thing to death, and probably you with it. You don’t want to have to meet up with handlers and psychiatrists every minute of the day. But just… Try not to frighten us again.”

 

“Okay.” Ray looked at his bandages. “Believe me, I didn’t do it because I thought it was a fun way to start my morning.”

 

“I know.” Cash gave a sudden smile. “Quick thinking though.”

 

 _I’m not sure it was my idea,_ Ray thought, keeping it to himself.

 

“One more thing,” the doctor said. “If you’re staying with your cousins tonight, you’ll need to take a sleeping tablet.”

 

“No!” _Fucking hell, I’ve got no control over anything else. At least let me fall asleep naturally._

 

She lifted a hand to silence his objections and continued. “Mr Langoustini, listen to me. The pain in your hands is likely to keep you awake. And you should take some prazosin as well.”

 

“Some what?”

 

“It will stop you talking in your sleep. That’s a real danger at the moment.”

 

Ray slumped. “Okay,” he said. He didn’t see that he had a lot of choice.

 

She looked at him critically. “I need to take your blood pressure again before I set the dose.”

 

“Or what? I start bleeding out my ears?” He held out his arm, resigned, and let her do her job.

 

“Actually,” she said, “your blood pressure’s still quite high.”

 

He stared at her. Why the hell did she sound pleased? “What did you expect?” It had been running high for weeks – no surprises there.

 

“It just means I don’t have to worry about you fainting.”

 

“Fainting? What the hell is this stuff?”

 

“It’s actually a blood pressure medicine. It has the side effect of suppressing nightmares, which is why it’s often prescribed in cases like this.”

 

“Cases like what? How many hallucinating Italians do you guys have working for you?”

 

She looked at him, confused for a moment, as though she’d taken him literally.

 

“Look, I’m sorry,” Cash broke in. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow. We don’t have any more time to debrief now. Think you can get here?”

 

“I can get here. What about after the funeral?”

 

“We’ll think of something before Wednesday. How about confession? Would Armando go to confession?”

 

“No,” Ray said. “Maybe for show, sometimes, but if he took too long it would freak out his family. They’d think he was going soft and spilling his guts – and if he was spilling his guts to a priest, he might start spilling to someone else.”

 

Cash nodded. “So, we’ll think of something else.”

 

“Yeah, well, you’d better.”

 

“Don’t worry. We’re looking out for you.” Cash didn’t sound as confident as he had yesterday. “Next time, we need to figure out how you can get some pictures to us.” He looked at Ray’s hands and winced.

 

“And how am I gonna work a camera?”

 

“Let the tech guys sort it out. I’m afraid time’s up.”

 

“I know.” Ray pushed himself to his feet. _God, I’m tired._ “See you guys tomorrow.”

 

“Try not to kill yourself.”

 

Ray thinned his lips in a smile. “Fifty-five and a half hours in,” he said. “Still not dead.”

 

He saw from the corner of his eye the doctor turn her head away, distressed. _She musta seen some good guys go._

 

It wasn’t a comforting thought.

~*~

 

The brothers were waiting in the lobby. A very pretty girl was chatting them up and she smiled when she saw him enter the room. He smiled back – of course. Agent… what was her name? She had been sent to distract the Iguanas, so that they didn’t come knocking on the door early, and she’d clearly done her job. Sal wasn’t too impressed, but Jackie was smiling like a pumpkin when they left.

 

“Only you could pick someone up at a funeral home,” Sal muttered. Jackie looked smug.

 

“Jealous?”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

Jackie grinned, then sobered. “You okay, Cuz?”

 

“Yeah. Fine.”

 

“Okay.” He glanced at Sal, as they settled into the back of the limo, Sal again sorting out Ray’s safety belt. “So.” Jackie cleared his throat and glanced sideways at Sal. It was clear the brothers had discussed the best way to look after their crazy cousin. “We’re gonna hang out at my place tonight. Watch the game. You wanna order in?”

 

“Yeah.” Ray’s brain automatically went back to watching basketball or hockey with Benny, even cricket, once. They were both bewildered by that. Why ruin a perfectly good game of baseball? Remembered sitting on the floor, back propped against the bed, watching a borrowed TV with no sound.

 

_‘What’s wrong with you, Benny? Buy a couch already.’_

 

_‘No need, Ray. I’m perfectly content to sit on the floor.’_

 

_‘Yeah, but I’m American. My ass gets numb.’_

 

And Dief curled up between them, and they ate pizza from a box.

 

The thought made him homesick. “Pizza,” he said, even though he knew it wouldn’t be the same. Jackie nodded.

 

“We’ll just order the usual then,” he said. “Come on, Cuz, let’s go home.”

 

And they went back to Jackie's, and ate pizza, and Armando’s usual was very like Ray’s own. They sat on a comfortable leather couch, and watched basketball on a TV that was as wide as Sal was long. Sal yelled at the players and told the referee that he was blind. When the game was over Jackie did his amateur doctor thing, and put Ray’s hand in the splint, making sure to remind him that he was a moron, as though Ray might forget.

 

 _Thank God for small mercies,_ he thought when the day was finally over, and he was settling into the guestroom. _No buttermilk._ He took his ibuprofen, then stared at the pills the doctor had given him. One to help him sleep and one to stop him screaming.

 

 _Fuck it._ He took the pills.


	4. Chapter 4

  
  
Someone was shaking him. _Leave me alone,_ Ray thought. _I want to sleep..._ He let himself drift...

 

"Wake up. Shit. Just what we need..."

 

 _Oh God, that's Jackie._ Ray struggled to wake. He heard the door slam and opened his eyes. The room was blurry. _Fuck._ He rolled over.

 

On the other side of the door, the brothers were arguing. Ray tried to sit up. The waterbed surged beneath him and – _shit. The room’s wobbling._ He collapsed back down, focused on the voices.

 

“I don’t like it. He’s not slept like that since –”

 

“Hey, it’s not that.” Sal was sharp and defensive. “He’s just tired, that’s all.”

 

“You said that last time. And this time, he’s been hit worse. I mean, fuck, I haven’t seen my daughter since she was fifteen, and she hates my guts –”

 

“She’s just angry.”

 

“That’s not the point,” Jackie said, dismissively. “The point is, Chiara died in his arms. If it was me I’d probably drink myself to death. What if he goes bat-shit crazy like his Ma?”

 

“Don’t say that.” Sal sounded furious. “Don’t fucking say it.”

 

 _Shit, Vecchio! Get your ass out of bed. Why is this so hard?_ His head was heavy, his limbs felt full of lead.

 

“Keep an eye on him. _That’s_ what I’m saying.”

 

“Why me?”

 

“Because he listens to you. I say anything, he’ll bite my fucking head off.”

 

“Yeah? Maybe he should.”

 

“Maybe you should take the damn blinders off. We got too much at stake for you guys to fuck it up now.”

 

“You listen to me, Jackie –”

 

“No. You listen to _me.”_ Jackie’s voice was hard. “I don’t care if you’re _capo_. You’ve always been blind where he’s concerned.”

 

Ray held his breath. There was silence for a moment, then movement behind the door. Sal growled. “You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“We can’t have people thinking the Bookman’s cracked. Not when he’s just put the fear of God up the whole Strip.”

 

Sal’s voice was tight. “He’s not cracked.”

 

“He’s not right either. He’s gone off the rails before.”

 

“That was years ago. And he held it together. Nobody outside the family even guessed.”

 

“That was before he was the Bookman.”

 

“He was always the Bookman.” Unexpectedly, Sal laughed. “Remember when he was a kid and we called him that anyway? You couldn’t get his nose out of a book.”

 

“Yeah…” For a moment Jackie sounded like he was smiling, but then his voice darkened. “And that’s bad too. I mean, maybe it’s like… I dunno what it’s called. It’s another kinda… what the hell’s that word? Escapology.”

 

“Escapism,” Ray called through the door, and the voices stopped. He shoved himself up from the bed, hating the undulating roll of the mattress. Flinging the door open, he tried to look as mad as Armando would if he’d woken up to hear all that shit. _Fuck. My brother was a lunatic. Runs in the damn family._ He stood in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest, and glared at Sal and Jackie.

 

“Fuck, Mando, we didn’t mean anything by it…”

 

“Yeah,” Ray nodded at Sal, “I get that. I get that _you_ didn’t mean anything by it.” He gave Jackie a filthy look. He was gonna have to stare the bastard down. “But you… Fuck’s sake, Jackie. I thought you knew me better than that.”

 

Jackie bridled. “After what happened yesterday, are you surprised?”

 

“I was tired! Do you have any idea what the last few weeks have been like? I was in hiding, and I got shot; I hardly got any sleep at all.”

 

“Okay. So, maybe. But we couldn’t wake you up and –fuck. You gotta admit, if you’re using again, you got cause.”

 

 _Using._ Suddenly it hit him. _Oh my God, Armando was a junkie._

 

“Great,” Ray said. “So, now I got your blessing to go out and get wasted? That’s a real help.”

 

“Hey, don’t be sarcastic with me,” Jackie shouted, and went bright red from his neck to his hairline. “We’re trying to look after you, you crazy fuck.”

 

“What did you call me?” Ray let himself go Bookman cold, and stepped right up into Jackie’s face. “You wanna repeat that? See just how crazy you can make me?”

 

Jackie squared his jaw, moved forward, practically chin to chin. “I wouldn’t normally hit a cripple,” he gestured at Ray’s bandages. “But for you I’ll make an exception.”

 

Ray sneered. “So, I can’t make a damn fist yet, but if you know what’s good for you, then back the fuck off.

 

“Okay, Mando.” Sal put a hand out, rested it on Ray’s arm, dropped  a heavy hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Jackie. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

 

Ray narrowed his gaze. Sal seemed sincere, which was a shock. He hadn’t expected to trust a mobster. Jackie though – Jackie was unreadable. Which meant Jackie didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. _Great._

 

“Alright then,” Ray said, and shrugged, trying for magnanimous. “We’ll leave it, okay?”  
 _I’ve been here since Friday, and already I’m talking to their international suppliers._ He’d just dodged a bullet with Jackie – God knows how – and the brothers were telling Ray all their secrets.

 

“Yeah.” Ray smiled, “breakfast is good. And then we’ll make nice with the Japs.”

 

Jackie stretched, yawning ostentatiously. “Okay.” He looked in the direction of his kitchen. Jackie was a guy who liked to cook. Even though he had staff, the kitchen was his domain. “You guys want omelette?”

 

Sal grabbed at the change of subject, looking like Dief on donut day, which was answer enough.

 

So they ate an excellent omelette in the kitchen. Sal had seconds. They washed it down with orange juice, and a coffee so dark and rich it made Ray’s eyes water. Jackie seemed happy to be feeding his family, Sal was happy to be stuffing his face with protein, and Ray felt like he really was a junkie as he wondered where the hell to stash his pills.

~*~

 

Ray was feeling pretty damn proud of himself. Over breakfast he’d persuaded the brothers to meet the Japanese emissaries at Armando’s place. _Wow. Can’t believe they fell for it..._ He wouldn’t have to try and remember everything that was said, and if the Japanese talked amongst themselves the Feds could get it straight to their translation team.

 

“I’m not sure, Armando.” Jackie still sounded doubtful. “You don’t want ‘em to get too close.”

 

“It cuts both ways,” Ray pointed out to Jackie. “If we make them feel at home, they’ll think they’re being respected by us and treated as honoured guests. When the time comes, they’ll feel compelled to return the favour. So, we allow them that, let them come as guests, not just businessmen. It’ll put them at their ease. And besides,” he grinned, an idea popping into his head. “I’m pretty sure Nero knows how to do a tea ceremony.”

 

Ray was confident of his guess. He’d read Nero’s file, and the man had worked in the Far East, Paris, London and Venice before he’d settled with Armando. “Even if he doesn’t we’ve got time to hire someone in.” He crinkled his brow. “There’s that Buddhist centre… they could do with donations.”

 

“Yeah, well, he might know how to do it, but we don’t. What the hell do we do?”

 

“Hey, it’s not like we’re gonna have a four hour _chaji.”_

 

There was a moment’s silence. _Wow,_ Ray thought, stifling a grin as the brothers exchanged puzzled glances. _They don’t know I’m bullshitting._

 

“What the fuck’s a _chaji?”_ Jackie looked at his brother, sourly. “Do you have a fucking clue what he’s talking about?”

 

Sal shrugged. “That’s why he’s _consigliere._ He knows this shit.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Ray said. “I bet even the Japs don’t know that stuff. They just do it to confuse the rest of the world. Nah – we’ll do the short form, and even if we don’t get it perfect, they’ll be impressed that we tried.”

 

“We got a lot riding on this,” Jackie warned. “We get this wrong, we’ll look like idiots.”

 

Ray kept his mouth shut. He’d said his piece. It was time to let the Boss decide.

 

Sal rubbed his forehead with his knuckles, thinking. “Okay,” he said, and suddenly grinned. “You know if this doesn’t work I’m gonna have to kill you.”

 

That was probably Sal’s idea of a joke. “Yeah, well.” Ray smiled. “You can try.”

 

“Fuck.” Jackie was still pissed. He glared at his brother. “I can’t believe you’re going along with this.” Sal shot him a warning look. Jackie gave hard look back, but fell silent. He could argue with the _consigliere_ till he was blue in the face, but once the _capofamiglia_ had made his mind up he had to fall in line.

 

Jackie still didn’t look like he trusted him, but Ray was getting used to that.

~*~

 

Cash seemed to be living on coffee these days. That was his third cup since the interview had started. "So,” he said, leaning over the recorder. "Anything else you can tell us?"

 

“Yeah – a little bit.” Grimacing, Ray slid a pencil between the knuckles of his right hand, and scrawled the symbols he could remember.

 

“He liked his Greek alphabet, didn’t he?”

 

“Yeah. Well, I can’t do the Chinese ones.”

 

“He spoke Chinese?”

 

“No, he just thought it looked cool.” Ray shook his head and smirked. “He was a bit of a pretentious bastard.”

 

Cash laughed. "Okay – well, we'll have our crypto guys look at the code again –"

 

“Yeah, well. Good luck with that. It's a simple substitution, but it's uncrackable if you don't have the key.”

 

Cash raised his eyebrows. “You figured that out by yourself?”

 

“Yeah, I...” Ray glanced up, and there was Armando, arms folded, glaring. _Oh, fuck off. Stupid ghost. There’s nothing you can do about it, so go back to Hell, or wherever you go._ “I surprise myself sometimes. Speaking of Armando. Why the hell didn’t you guys tell me he was a junkie?”

 

“A… what?”

 

Ray glared at him. “You heard me. I took that damn sleeping pill like you told me. This morning I wake up and the brothers are muttering away about how they can’t get me out of bed, and am I using again?”

 

“Oh.” Cash looked stunned. “Well… that we didn’t know. I’m sorry. Nothing came up on his toxicology report, so he must have been clean for a while. We’ll try to find out more.”

 

“Apparently it was a while back.” Ray looked at his brother. “They said it was before he was the Bookman.”

 

Cash nodded, and paused the tape, recording the time as he did so. “You’ll have to be careful,” he said in a low voice. “But you need to take the meds.” He paused, looking uncomfortable. “Hopefully not for long, just while you’re settling in. To be honest, the guys in psych are a bit worried about the hallucinations –”

 

“Hey, I’m not hallucinating.”

 

Armando walked across the room and, as if to prove a point, sat in the chair next to Cash.

 

“Whatever you call it, they don’t like it. They think you’re doing a great job, but they also think if you talk in your sleep you’re dead. And they’ve got a point.”

 

“The brothers aren’t gonna give me a minute’s peace. If I take sleeping pills they’ll know I’m out for the count.”

 

Cash rubbed his face. He looked damn tired himself. “I’ll get the doctor to adjust the dose. I’m really sorry. I can’t think of anything else. It’s that, don’t sleep at all, or have screaming nightmares.”

 

 _Yeah, of course. Cash musta heard my screaming nightmares._ The bastard Feds had been spying on him since Chicago after all.

 

“Okay, okay.” He gestured at the tape recorder. Cash nodded and turned the tape recorder back on. It let out a shrill squeal and started chewing up the tape. Cash grabbed it, switched it off just in time, and pulled the cassette out. The ribbon was twisted and scrambled. “Oh...” he groaned. “That’s just fantastic.”

 

From his seat next to the FBI Agent, Armando smiled.

 

 _‘You got anything to do with this?’_ Ray asked his brother.

 

Armando folded his arms across his chest, leant back on the chair, and stared at the light bulb. It flickered.

 

_Shit. I’m imagining that. He’s like Pa – he can mess with my head, but he can’t do things – not real things, in the real world._

 

The light went out.

 

Cash was grumbling, unspooling the trapped tape with a pencil.  “... faulty equipment. I can’t believe we have a simple power surge and it chews the tape up. Give  me a minute, I’ll change cassettes.”

 

“Have we lost everything?” Ray went to open the curtain and let some light in the room. _‘Yeah, well, you can’t make the sun go out,’_ he thought at Armando.

 

“Don’t worry,” Cash was saying. “The tech guys should get most of it.” He fiddled about a bit more, then put in a fresh tape and resumed the interview.

 

“So,” Ray said, as they were coming to a close. “What about this Greek? We even know who he is?”

 

“We do know him. Skoulodis. He's the liaison between the Iguanas and the Greek Outfit."

 

"Yeah? Well, he's not going to be anything a week from now. What you gonna do about it?"

 

“There’s not much we can do,” Cash said, looking at his watch. “You just have to let them get on with it.”

 

Ray felt his mouth go dry. “But they’re gonna kill him.”

 

Cash looked up, puzzled. “Well, of course they are. We’re not here to save the bad guys. You just have to let them kill each other.”

 

 _Shit. I thought the Iguanas were fucked up._  He sat back and stared at the agent as he made his final remarks to the tape recorder. He felt like he’d never seen the guy before _._

 

 _‘And I thought you were the good guys.’_ Armando’s mouth curved in contempt, and he blinked out of the room.

 

Cash glanced across at Ray and raised an eyebrow. “You alright?”

 

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Ray shook it off. Cash wasn’t a bad guy. He was… What? Hell, he was a cop. So he didn’t give a fuck about the bad guys. Ray knew how that felt, how little he cared about some pedophile’s ‘rights,’ and yeah – like any other cop there were guys he’d like to see dead. But he’d never have just stood by and let them be tortured to death by mob guys. Would he?

 

Ray pushed it out of his head. If he thought about this too hard, he might really lose his mind.

 

“Okay,” Cash was saying. “Well, we’ll get the doc in here, and hopefully you’re good to go. You can get here tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah. Last day before the funeral.”

 

“I know. We’ll sort out alternative meets and let you know tomorrow. Any questions?”

 

“Yeah,” Ray blurted out. “How’s Benny?” At least there was one person he knew would never corrupted by the system.

 

“The Mountie?”

 

“Yeah. I mean… I know he’s a big boy and all, but I’ve been worried about him. Musta been a shock to get back and I was gone.”

 

“I’m not supposed to talk about it, but he’s okay. He’s settling in with his new partner.”

 

“His new…” Oh. For some reason that hurt. Of course Welsh would partner him up with someone – maybe Jack Huey. Ray imagined Benny running around Chicago, ruining Huey’s suits, and felt a lump in his throat. _What I wouldn’t give to be Huey right now._

 

“Yeah.” Cash broke in on his reverie. “I think we chose a good guy to be you while you’re gone.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Oh.” Cash gave a ‘God give me strength’ roll of his eyes, almost like Ma. “They didn’t tell you. Why does that not surprise me?”

 

“Tell me what?”

 

“The probability guys thought there was a chance that someone from the old days, Doctor Simmons most likely, might know about the deal your father made with Langoustini.”

 

“Yeah. I figured that one out.”

 

Cash grinned his approval. “They didn’t want to freak you out by saying anything, but I guessed you’d work it out for yourself. Anyway – if that’s the case they might be paying attention to what Ray Vecchio does in Chicago. We couldn’t have you drop off the grid, so we put a new guy in to take over for you.”

 

“Hope you got a guy who looks like me,” Ray said, distantly.

 

“I don’t know much about him, other than he’s done undercover before, they thought from his psych profile he’d get on with the Mountie, and he’s got a bunch of commendations.”

 

So, a good guy then – if there were any good guys left. And the Feds thought he’d get on with Benny. _.._

 

_At least someone is looking out for him. I should be glad._

 

 _Oh shit. Who am I kidding?_ He swallowed, sick as he realised the ugly truth. _I'm not glad; I'm jealous. I'm so jealous of this new 'Ray Vecchio' that..._

 

_That it hurts._

 

That was it. It hurt. It hurt that he was so... so replaceable. It made him feel like he didn’t exist, like he was nobody at all. Who cared about Ray Vecchio? _I’m no-one special. They just pull me out of my life one day, and ‘oh look, here’s one we made earlier.’_ Some other damn nobody, slotted right into the gap.

 

_Benny’s gonna be calling that guy ‘Ray’ now. Oh yeah, to maintain my cover and protect my life, but…_

 

_No._

 

 _No, no. Benny might go along with it, but he won’t accept the new guy._ _Yeah, he’ll be Canadian, and friendly, and polite, but he’ll never think of the new guy as ‘Ray.’ He knows who I am... He’s my best friend._

 

He was calming down, panic subsiding as his breathing returned to normal, when another thought hit him.  

 

_Frannie starts at the Twenty Seventh next week. She’ll call the new guy ‘Ray,’ bring files to ‘Detective Vecchio…’_

 

He closed his eyes, banishing the image from his mind.  

 

_My own sister…_

“You’re very quiet today,” the doctor said when she’d finished asking him questions about his health. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Yeah. Fine.”

 

And then it was time to go and see the Japanese suppliers.

~*~

 

Nero did know the ritual, of course. If he was surprised that his employer knew it too, it didn’t show. Armando had been a very well educated and travelled man, after all. With a speed that only money could buy, the correct tea leaves, cups, and ‘accoutrements’ were gathered. After some discussion, Ray and Nero agreed that the garden would be the best place to conduct the ceremony. Not in sight of the swimming pool, which the Japanese might consider overly flashy, or the shooting range, which was ugly, but in the shade at the back of the house, between the trees and the desert-bleached walls. 

 

It also happened to be so close to one of the Feds’ bugs that they’d hear a pin drop.

 

“I’m not gonna remember all this,” Sal complained, as they knelt and practised the ritual. He was obviously regretting the idea.

 

“Hey, don’t worry Sal. You just got stage fright. It’s not like you got any lines to remember.”

 

Ray knew exactly how the man felt. Benny got him into all sorts of weird shit, but a Japanese tea ceremony had been one of the weirdest. Ray had been so nervous he nearly dropped the cup.

 

 _The things I do for Benny,_ Ray smiled, remembering the convention. Benny had coached him ahead of the event, as he was trying to coach the Iguana brothers now, and Ray remembered being puzzled that most of the ritual seemed to be making the tea, whisking it, ladling it, and then looking at the cup, thinking, _‘huh, that’s really green, why can’t I drink it yet?’_

 

“It’s not about the tea, Ray,” Benny had said in an attempt to reassure him, and started talking about Zen Buddhism, and spiritual calm, and creating meditative spaces during daily life… Ray stopped listening, because he hated it when his friend sounded like Yoda.

 

And here he was now, pretending to be the expert. _Whose stupid idea was this? Oh, yeah… mine._

 

“If they wanna cup of tea, why can’t they just stick a teabag in a mug like the Brits?” Jackie scowled. “Fucking show offs.”

 

“It’s not about the tea,” Ray said, pokerfaced. “It’s about respect, and culture, and creating meditative spaces in daily life.”

 

“You sound like fucking Yoda,” Jackie said. Ray lost his Zen cool and laughed his ass off.

 

“Better not do that when the Japs get here,” Jackie added when they’d all stopped cackling. “Wouldn’t it be just great if you were the one to fuck it up?”

 

“You got a point.” Ray wiped his face. _God, I’m all over the place._ He felt like a kite in a strong wind. “Okay. Let’s do that again.”

 

They had one last argument about who should do the honours with the whisking and ladling and pouring and so forth. Ray tried explaining that it wasn’t that hard to do, just boring, but the brothers were convinced they’d get everything in the wrong order.

 

“Ideally, it should be you, Sal.”

 

Sal glared at his little cousin. “I’m not making the tea. That’s what Nero’s for. Besides, he knows the ritual better than we do. We’ll just follow his lead.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Jackie scoffed. “The Japs won’t like it if we get a Moolie to do it.”

 

 _Fucking hell,_ Ray thought, shocked. _The man’s standing right there._

 

Nero didn’t even blink.

 

“You gotta point,” Sal conceded. “You do it.”

 

“I can’t fucking do it. Look at these things.” Jackie gestured at the cups. “If I sneeze wrong I’ll break ‘em. I can just about manage to drink out of the things, but no way I’m whisking anything if it ain’t an egg.”

 

“Mando?” Sal looked at Ray’s bandages. “Shit,” he said, “you can’t do it.”

 

Ray glanced at Jackie. The man was smiling, no doubt gloating that he’d been proven right.

 

_Yeah, you’d like to make me look bad, wouldn’t you?_

 

Before he could stop himself, he shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Jackie snapped. “You’re not up to it.”

 

Jackie’s protestation just made Ray more determined. “It’ll work. I’ll go slow and careful.”

 

“You go much slower, we’ll all be old men by the time we drink the damn stuff.”

 

“So it’ll take ten minutes instead of – what – six?” Ray scoffed. “What’s ten minutes out of our lives anyway?” It was going to be ten painful minutes, he admitted to himself, but he wasn’t about to let the brothers know how much his hands were hurting. “It might even work out better this way. They’ll see it’s difficult, but we’re still trying.” He looked at his watch and felt a flutter of alarm. “Besides. They’ll be here soon.”

 

“I could do with a belt,” Jackie muttered. “This was a terrible fucking idea.”

~*~

 

“That was a brilliant fucking idea,” Jackie enthused, five hours later, after the Japanese envoys finally left. “We had ‘em eating outta our hands.”

 

Ray cradled his left wrist in his right hand, clumsily. The left palm felt like it was burning again. He’d been trying to do his stretches, but his fingers were tight, and hot to the touch.

 

“We’ll see,” he said, unconvinced. Jackie and he had switched positions on the wisdom of the tea ceremony. _Jackie was right in the first place. He’s gonna be pissed when he realises I ballsed everything up._ “Let’s go talk to Nero, he can tell us what they were talking about…”

 

“Hang on, Nero speaks Japanese?”

 

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Ray grinned.

 

A slow smile spread across Jackie’s face. “And he’ll have heard everything they said.”

 

“That was part of the plan. There’s nobody more invisible than a servant.”

 

“Damn.” Jackie started laughing. “Remind me never to doubt you again, Cuz. You’re a fucking genius.”

 

 _Nah,_ Ray thought. _Just another time that Benny made me look good._

 

Very good, as it happened. Nero reported on the Japanese side of the conversation, and it seemed they’d been extremely impressed.

 

Nero shifted into what could only be described as ‘parade stance’ and did his best impersonation of Jeeves. _He has to be putting that on,_ Ray thought. _I can hear the damn paragraphs..._

 

Nero concluded his beautiful soliloquy with, “I’m reasonably certain that within the next twenty-four hours, once they have received confirmation from their superiors, they will be improving upon the original contract. They were debating the possibility of offering you sole import rights in the US.”

 

The brothers stood silent for an awed moment, then started babbling excitedly and making plans. “Help yourself to a drink,” Ray said, knowing that Jackie would have bourbon, Sal water. Jackie gave Ray the thumbs up, still grinning, on the way to the rec room. _You’d a thought it was his idea._ Ray sighed, letting the tension out of his shoulders as he wandered to the kitchen.

 

 _Wow._ He grinned as it hit him. So, okay – maybe he’d made the Iguanas look like idiots to the Japanese, but at least he’d got the guys all talking under the same roof. _The Feds can use this. Less than a week, and I’ve handed ‘em the Yakuza on a plate._

 

Armando was waiting by the refrigerator.

 

“Don’t you start,” Ray muttered.

 

The ghost sent a jolt of pure venom and fury at him. Ray staggered, throwing an arm against his chest. For one terrifying instant, it felt like being drenched in icy water, like his brother was trying to drown him, or freeze him till his heart stopped. Ray sucked in air, and braced himself into fighting stance. Sent back his own furious look.

 

“Yeah, I know you don’t like it, but you can fuck off you dead bastard. You dug your own grave –”

 

Shit. He was talking out loud. The Feds could hear him, and if he wasn’t careful, so would Nero and the brothers. Angry with himself he slid the hooked fingers of his right hand around the refrigerator door, and tugged, slamming it right into the spot where Armando… wasn’t. _Yeah,_ Ray thought. _And you can stay out._

 

Damn, the right hand was itching… which meant it was getting better. The left hand was worrying though. The skin of the fingers was definitely tight, and beginning to go bright red in patches. He was going to have to call Doc Simmons.

 

 _Armando’s back._ He could feel him watching, a cold spot between his shoulder blades. Ray whirled, expecting another psychic assault, then froze. Armando was looking petrified, and Joey was standing right beside him, holding his hand.

 

“Joey,” Ray yelled, dropping the milk.

 

 _‘Please,’_ Armando was desperate. _‘Help him.’_

 

“Fuck.” Ray ran.

~*~

 

His phone kept ringing. Cutting out, starting up again. He was shaking so much he hadn’t got the damn thing out of his pocket. _God, I’m fucking useless._

 

The chauffeur was talking to him. Ray blinked, shook his head. “What,” he snapped, every inch Armando, and rude as hell.

 

“Boss, I was just letting you know that we’re being followed.”

 

Alarmed, Ray twisted in his seat, then relaxed.

 

“It’s okay, that’s Jackie’s car.” That must be who was trying to ring.

 

 _Deep breaths,_ Ray told himself, and managed to scoop the phone out of his pocket. Painfully he hit redial.

 

Sal picked up.

 

“What the hell are you doing now?”

 

“I’m going to the hospital, Joey’s sick.”

 

“I know he’s sick, Mando. That’s why he’s at the hospital. He’s getting better.”

 

“No, he’s not.” Ray leant back and shut his eyes, fighting nausea. “I just saw him, in the kitchen. He’s not alright.”

 

“Fuck’s sake, Cuz.” Jackie’s voice broke in, fainter than Sal’s. They must have him on speaker phone. “Now you’re seeing things as well?”

 

“Look, trust me, okay?”

 

“Mando,” Sal sounded at the end of his rope. “You gotta calm the fuck down. You’re not making sense. There’s nothing wrong with Joey. You’re having a panic attack ‘cause you ain’t had time to see him today, that’s all it is. The hospital would have phoned if...”

 

 _Shit. That musta been them on the phone_. Between the hospital and the brothers it was no damn wonder the thing had been ringing nonstop. He couldn’t remember the number. “Can you call ‘em for me? Tell ‘em I’m on my way?”

 

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you?”Jackie shouted. “Joey’s fine.”

 

 _I musta scared ‘em,_ he realised, _taking off like that. They didn’t even wait for a driver._ That was Jackie behind the wheel, barrelling along, trying to catch him up.

 

“Sal,” Ray shouted. “Stop talking about it! Just call the damn hospital.”

 

“Why don’t you?” Sal snapped back.

 

“Why do you think? Because my brain’s fried, and I can’t remember the damn number and my hands don’t fucking work.”

 

There was silence on the phone.

 

“Look, just fucking humour me.”

 

“Okay.” Sal sounded flat, disappointed, as though he was suddenly too tired and miserable to fight. “I’ll call you back.”

 

Four minutes later – Ray kept looking at his watch – Sal called back. His voice was tight. “Sorry, Mando, you were right. He’s been seizing. They’re trying to get him stable now.”

 

“He’s not dead?”

 

“No.” The man faltered. “But his heart stopped. They started it up again.”

 

_His heart stopped. That’s when I saw him in the kitchen._

 

“Mando? You there? Can you hear me?”

 

“Yeah.” Ray’s voice was barely a breath. “I’ll see you at the hospital.”

~*~

 

“You can’t go in there, Mr Langoustini.”

 

“That’s my son in there.”

 

“I know.” The nurse folded her arms across her chest aggressively. “And he won’t be your son much longer if you go in there while the doctors are working on him.”

 

Ray turned and stared at her, shocked. What the hell happened to her bedside manner? “Do you know who I am?”

 

“Yes, Sir.” She was a stocky woman, only up to his shoulder, but she still stared him down. “I know exactly who you are, but right here, I’m in charge, and if I tell you not to go in there and risk your son’s health, then you sit down and do exactly what I say.”

 

Shit. He’d run into a Jamaican version of Ma.

 

“Sorry,” he stuttered. “Sorry, I’m just…”

 

She put a hand on his elbow, and steered him to a chair. “Sit down,” she said, more gently now. “I’ll get you some water, you’re shocky.”

 

Maybe she wasn’t Jamaican at all, whatever her accent said. Maybe she was Canadian.

 

“Yeah,” he said, irrelevantly. “Water fixes everything.”

 

She brought it in a paper cup, with a straw, kinda like he was a kid. When he aimed for his drink he couldn’t get his fingers to work. They would have been shaking too much anyway.

 

“Mando?”

 

Ray looked up. The brothers Iguana, and, oh God, he was glad to see them. He’d never thought the day would come.

 

“Hey, Sal.”

 

Jackie was standing a little further back with an odd look on his face - almost frightened. Sal just looked big brotherly and kind. He sat beside Ray, and put his arm around him. Ray relaxed sideways into the hug. _It’s because I’m undercover, I gotta play nice with these guys._ He wasn’t convincing himself. He just needed someone to lean on.

 

He closed his eyes, and thought of Benny, and the brass compass his friend had given him after their adventures in the Great North woods. That compass was in his pocket now. He carried it with him everywhere.

 

Jackie was sitting next to him now, on the other side. “Hey, Cuz.” He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hands. “You okay?” His voice was tight.

 

“Yeah,” Ray said, because it was what people always said.

 

“How did you know?”

 

“Know?”

 

“Know that he was ill.”

 

“I told you. I saw him.”

 

“Shit,” Sal said, low in his chest. “He musta been dead for a minute.”

 

Jackie shuddered.

 

“Mr Langoustini?”

 

“Yeah.” Ray jolted to his feet. A doctor. She looked young, but a doctor.

 

“I have your son’s charts here. Could you step into my office to talk?”

 

Sal and Jackie stood on either side of him, and the doctor gave them a pointed look. “Alone.”

 

“We’re family.” Jackie raised his voice, and it cracked. Ray looked at the petite blonde woman, tried to send her warning vibes that she’d just offended a crazy ass mobster with a short fuse, already on the verge of panic. No such luck. She carried on oblivious.

 

“I know. But I really need to talk to Joey’s father alone.”

 

Jackie stepped forward, his hands curling into fists and Ray put his nearest hand out to stop him. Unfortunately, it was his left. The impact when Jackie banged against it jolted right through him, from fingertip to wrist, to shoulder blade. Despite himself, Ray cried out.

 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Armando.”

 

“S’alright,” Ray managed. “My fault, I should have worn the sling.”

 

“Mr Langoustini?”

 

“Wait for me, will you?” Ray looked at the brothers.

 

“You know we will.” Sal leant in, and kissed the side of his head.

 

Ray nodded, and followed the doctor.

~*~

 

“Okay,” the doctor said. “Two things. One, Joey’s stable for the time being, though it will be a few hours before we’ll know the damage. Two, my name is Agent Harriman, though obviously you’d call me Doctor Jones. And we thought we’d take this opportunity to talk.”

 

Ray’s jaw dropped. The Feds had an agent in the hospital. “Hang on,” he said, his brain slipping as he tried to change gear, “you’re using the fact Joey nearly died as an excuse to drag me in here and –”

 

“I’ll talk about Joey later. For now, they wanted to tell you well done on the Yakuza contract. You’ve given us a lot to work on, and the higher ups are very impressed. We’d like to know if you intend to invite them as regular guests to your home. If you can get them to open up it will help a great deal with our long term ops.”

 

“Yeah… yeah.” Ray sank into a chair. He was here to do a job after all, he could hardly blame Agent whatshername for doing hers. “I can get ‘em back. The brothers liked it, I think we can make it a regular thing.”

 

“Good. Now, we need to discuss the funeral. We’ll have people working the bar of course, some of the hired in staff, several of the musicians. If you think any of our operatives are being made, then we need you to warn them somehow, so they can get out. Do you understand?”

 

“Of course I do.”

 

She looked apologetic. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply… that is… I know you know what you’re doing.” She rubbed her eyebrow with her thumb, in a gesture strangely like one of Benny’s. “Okay,” she cleared her throat. “To return to Joey. I really am a doctor, so rest assured when I say we’re doing everything we can for him. He had a major episode, a species of grand mal seizure. He blocked his airways with his tongue. That’s what caused the heart attack.”

 

 _Heart attack? He’s six._ Ray nodded to signal his understanding.

 

“It’s likely that he’ll always suffer from a seizure disorder. When we looked again at his MRI scans we found some signs of fairly subtle damage. We need to give him another set of scans, which will indicate whether he might benefit from brain surgery.”

 

“Hang on. What? Brain surgery?”

 

“It’s just an option. We may be able to go the pharmacological route instead, but we won’t know for a while. In the meantime, if he has another violent seizure there’s a chance his breathing will stop again. It’s unlikely while he’s in hospital that he’d be left in a state of hypoxia long enough to –”

 

“Speak English.” He couldn’t help snapping. “A poxy what?”

 

“I mean… while he’s in here, it’s unlikely that he’d be left without oxygen long enough to get further brain damage. Even if he seizes again, we have the facilities to help him. But…” She sighed and gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, it’s difficult to say this, but your brother wasn’t here to sign the forms, Sal refused, so we thought you might –”

 

“What forms?”

 

“Well, it’s unlikely to arise, but in the eventuality that something does happen, we – I mean, medically ‘we’, not the FBI…  uhm.” She scratched her eyebrow and started again. “The hospital need you to sign a consent form to turn off the machines…”

 

Ray was on his feet and walking down the corridor. He didn’t know how he’d got there. Behind him he heard voices.

 

“Cuz, what the fuck… what’d she say?”

 

“Mando, slow down… can you hear me?”

 

Ray turned, leaned back against the wall, and looked back at Joey’s other uncles. “She wants permission to switch off the machines if it happens again.”

 

“What? Shit, Mando…”

 

“She can’t do that! Fucking bitch…”

 

“No. She can’t do it. She can’t do it because if I’m not here nobody’s gonna be able to make me.”

 

“What about Lexie?” Jackie looked wretched. “Couldn’t she?”

 

“No,” Ray bit out. _Because my brother’s a piece of shit bastard, and didn’t let his own wife sign as next of kin._ He raised his hand to his face, and wiped a tear onto his cuff. “The only other person they could ask is Sal.”

 

“Well, I won’t do it!” Sal turned and glared down the hall, in the direction of the doctor’s office.

 

“I know. That’s why I asked you in the first place. They’d have to get a court order.”

 

“We could fight that forever.” Jackie looked at him, concerned. “You sure you want to leave though? What if he wakes up and you’re not here?” He paused. “You mightn’t have many more chances to see him.”

 

_Oh God. You brutal fucking bastard._

 

Ray slumped. It was brutal, but it was true. Jackie put his arm around him, and led him back to the ward.

 

The doctor was waiting outside her office. Her face flickered with relief when she saw him. “Mr Langoustini,” she said. “I’m so sorry that I upset you. Like I said, it’s a remote possibility, and you don’t have to make your mind up now. But I do still need to see you.”

 

“Not alone,” Sal said, in his heaviest, most menacing tone. She looked up at the big man. Despite her cool exterior she swallowed.

 

“Okay,” she said. “This way.”

 

The doctor’s office seemed very crowded now. “I’m sorry,” she said, as she cleared boxes off her chairs. “I’ve only been working here a couple of weeks. I’m sure you understand.”

 

Ray did, even if the brothers didn’t. The Feds had only dropped her in this when they knew Ray was going in as Armando. She seemed confident enough, so she’d probably done undercover before. _I’m glad one of us has a clue what we’re doing._

 

“Okay,” she started again. “Like I said, Joey’s had a violent episode, and we’re concerned that if this continues, then he may suffer further brain damage.” Jackie leant forward, pointing a finger at her, about to speak. She raised her hands in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture. “The situation may resolve itself naturally,” she said. “Children’s brains are elastic – he may improve as he gets older. If not, chances are we can control the condition with medication. If that fails…” she stopped, cleared her throat, and started again. “There is always the surgical option.”

 

“So,” Sal said, before his brother could start shouting. “What you mean is, you don’t know anything yet.”

 

“That would be a correct assessment, Sir.”

 

“When can we see him?” Sal leaned over his knees, crowding the space although he was sitting in a chair.

 

“Well… really… it should only be the father…”

 

“They’re fine,” Ray said, before she could do something to get herself whacked. “They’re his uncles, and besides, Sal here is signed as co-legal guardian.”

 

“What about his mother?”

 

“She’s unfit,” Jackie chimed in. His tone was matter-of-fact; he might as well have been commenting on the wallpaper.

 

“Stop that!”   _Holy shit, why doesn’t he get it over with and call me a fanook in front of all Vegas._ “Non si parla mai della famiglia con uno sconosciuto.” He couldn’t believe that Jackie had said a thing like that ‘outside the Family.’ “e non si parla mai della moglie di un altro uomo in quel modo” Ray’s voice had gone sharp, so he  dropped his tone. “Sai meglio, Jackie.”

 

The man’s mouth twisted. “Lei è inadatta,” he repeated. The guy knew perfectly well that he was out of order, criticising another man’s wife in front of outsiders, but no way he would ever admit it.

 

“Beh... devi tenere la bocca chiusa. Inoltre, lei è l'unica madre che ha.” He turned back to the doctor and spoke English. “Yeah,” he said, calmly. “Please phone my wife. She should be here.”

 

“Okay.” The doctor rose to go to the door, then stopped, looked at him pointedly. “Mr Langoustini?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You’re bleeding.”

 

Ray looked down at his left hand. He’d forgotten it was hurting… must have happened when Jackie tried to push past him. Red spots were beginning to ooze through the bandage.

 

“I’ll need to dress that,” the doctor said gently.

 

“Sure.”

 

“While you’re at it,” Jackie said, glaring at her, “look at his shoulder. Don’t know if you heard, but he got shot.”

 

“Everyone heard.” She smiled, tilted her head slightly, and fluttered her eyelashes. “You guys are famous.”

 

 _Holy crap,_ Ray thought. _She’s flirting. Clever woman._ She was trying to de-escalate Jackie’s anger. _She’s really good._ Jackie shifted, relaxing a little. The doctor’s smile broadened. “Let me patch your cousin up, Sir,” she murmured, “and then I’ll see about getting you in to visit Joey.”

 

“Sure,” Jackie nodded, slightly smug now. “Thanks.”

 

The Feds were right, pretty women really were Jackie’s weak spot… He might be sharp as a tack in some ways, but how arrogant was that guy? Once you knew his buttons, racist, reactionary, sexist, he was easy to manipulate.

 

“I’ll step outside now,” she said, talking to Jackie like he was her patient instead of Ray, “and call your cousin’s wife. Then we’ll have a look at his injuries.”

 

“How ‘bout after, you and me have coffee?”

 

She smiled prettily, and ducked her head, pretending to come over shy. “That would be lovely, Sir.”

 

“Jackie,” he said. “Call me Jackie.”

 

“Certainly… Jackie. I’m Sarah.” She extended her hand to shake. Jackie bent over it, and kissed. “Oh,” she said, and her voice fluttered. The brothers obviously thought that she was smitten.

 

While she was at the nurses’ station calling Lexie, Sal stared at his brother, half disgusted, half admiring.

 

“Only you could pick someone up at the hospital.”

 

“Jealous?”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

Obviously a common conversation, Ray thought. “Guys?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Cut it out.”

~*~

 

That night the doctor – Sarah – arranged for Ray to have a bed moved in next to Joey’s, although Ray didn’t feel like getting into it yet. He sat next to his nephew, his bandaged right hand resting on the pillow, next to Joey’s head. The little boy was in a medically induced coma to give his brain time to rest, but even knowing that, it chilled Ray to see the child laid out like a corpse.

 

When the Iguana brothers had gone, Sarah came back in, and locked the door.

 

“Mr Langoustini,” she said, and sat, apologetically, opposite his chair. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your actual name.”

 

“Even if you did,” Ray said ruefully, “you couldn’t use it.”  

 

“I know.”

 

He didn’t say anything _. That sounds an awful lot like ‘I’m sorry.’_

 

“Look,” she continued, “I know it’s been a shock, but Joey’s in the best hands. They picked me when when they realised Joey had head trauma. I’m actually a damn good doctor.”

 

 _Modest too._ He smiled at her. “Glad to hear it. And you think fast. You sure got the measure of Jackie. ”

 

“Yes, well.” She snorted. “Like I told him. He’s famous.”

 

_Of course, she’ll have read up on ‘em, known what to expect._

 

“I don’t envy your side of the op though.” Her voice dropped. “How do you do it?”

 

Ray thought of Ma in Chicago, tending an empty grave. “I got no choice.”

 

“Oh. That’s… I’m sorry.”

 

“Ain’t we all?”

 

She clearly didn’t know what to say to that, and changed the subject. “Since you’re here,” she said, “you really should have a good night’s sleep.”

 

 _I’m not taking those damn sleeping pills again,_ he thought. “Yeah. Okay.”

 

She nodded, briefly. “I’ll get a nurse to put a splint on your hand.”

 

“It’s gonna be alright, isn’t it?”

 

“I don’t know. Probably. The right one is looking good, but the left might be infected.”

 

“Great.”

 

“I’m going to suggest that you come in every day to have it looked at, which is actually a good idea, medically speaking. We’ll apply a topical antibiotic cream -”

 

“Thank God,” Ray muttered. “The ones for my chest make me queasy.”

 

She grimaced. “If your lungs stay clear you’ll be off them soon. Anyway… this gives us an opportunity to touch base. I’m also going to have some documents made up saying that you need to come in for physiotherapy three times a week for your shoulder. Your shoulder doesn’t need it, but it will give you a chance to meet your handler. We can probably use that excuse for months.”

 

Ray grinned. “You’re pretty damn smart, for a brain surgeon.”

 

She laughed and stood. “Well,” she said, wistfully. “I wish I was having coffee with you instead.” She bent over his chair and kissed him, right on his shaved head. He blinked, startled. _Shit, that’s twice in two days some woman’s kissed me._

~*~

_Joey was somewhere ahead of him, and he could feel his brother at his back. He called their names, but the light was failing and there was no reply. All around him was fog and smoke. He couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t see Armando, he couldn’t see Joey.  He couldn’t see his own hands._

 

_Oh God, we’re lost. All three of us._

 

_He looked for a landmark. Nothing. Not even a star._

 

_‘You have a compass, Son,’ Ma said. ‘In your coat.’_

 

_He couldn’t see her, but when he dropped his uninjured hand in his pocket, there it was._

 

_How do I use this thing?_

 

_‘Follow the needle,’  Benny said. ‘True North.’_

 

He woke with a start, and turned toward his nephew. Armando was sitting by his son’s bed, his face in shadow. Joey was smiling in his sleep.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Notes: Italian dialogue between Ray and Jackie:
> 
> Non si parla mai della famiglia con uno sconosciuto. -You don’t talk about the family with an outsider. 
> 
> E non si parla mai della moglie di un altro uomo in quel modo. - And you never talk about another man’s wife like that.
> 
> Sai meglio, Jackie. - You know better, Jackie.
> 
> Lei è inadatta. - She’s unfit.
> 
> Devi tenere la bocca chiusa. Inoltre, lei è l'unica madre che ha. - Keep your mouth shut. Besides, she’s his only mother.”


	5. Chapter 5

_This has to be the stupidest place in the world to hold a meeting,_ Ray thought. _What the hell’s Sal thinking, arranging the meet at a goddamn hospital?_

 

Not that Ray was going to complain – he’d drawn enough negative attention to himself this morning. The brothers had turned up just as Ray was struggling with his cuffs, and he’d caught a glimpse of concern before their faces smoothed over. _Holy shit – this is worse than yesterday._

 

He kept his mouth shut as they took possession of a pediatrician’s office. The doctor didn’t complain, though he looked close to it as he bundled his files to his chest and got out.

 

As soon as the doctor had cleared the room, Jackie started in on Ray. “Don’t fall apart again,” he grumbled. “Not in front of Onofri.”

 

“I won’t fall apart,” Ray snapped. “And besides,” he lied, “it’s not like I see a ghost every day.”

 

“It wasn’t a ghost,” Jackie scoffed. Apparently he’d forgotten his superstitious dread of the night before. “It was a coincidence. Fuck, Cuz,” he shook his head and pointed out what they were all thinking. “You look like shit. You have to pull yourself together.”

 

“Shut up, both of you.” Sal glared at Jackie. “Mando did good with the Yakuza. He looks okay – just hasn’t shaved.” He turned then to Ray. “And you, stay with us. So maybe you don’t look your best - let’s rub that in. You been up all night, looking after your sick son, but you’re still a force to be reckoned with. Reckon you can pull it off?

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good.” Sal snapped. “We don’t want you going off with the fairies.”

 

“Excuse me?” Ray stared, caught off guard - that was the most insulting Sal had ever been to him.

 

“What I’m saying is, hold it together. Both of you. You start fighting each other in front of Onofri, I’ll have you both whacked.” He only half sounded like he was joking. “I mean it. Behave.”

 

Jackie obviously didn’t appreciate being chastised by his kid brother, but before he could say anything, there was a tap on the door.

 

One of the bodyguards stuck his head in. “Onofri’s been spotted,” he said. “The car’s pulling up now. Should be ten minutes.”

 

“Hang on, Cuz.” Jackie stepped forward, and adjusted Ray’s tie. Ray submitted to the gesture, fairly sure Jackie was marking his territory rather than apologising - though it might look like an apology to Sal. It made Ray feel like choking, but he’d already needed one of the nurses to help him lace his shoes up this morning, when Nero sent round a change of clothes. _Thank God the brothers didn’t see that._ She must have taken one look at him, unshaven, bandaged, sleeping in a hospital bed, and thought he was a patient.

 

Jackie stopped fussing, stepped back and looked at Ray critically. He nodded, then gave a thumbs up. “Now we’re good to go,” Jackie informed the room, as though he were the _capofamiglia,_ instead of Sal.

 

“Okay,” Sal sat behind the desk. “Take your places,” he added, like a general ordering his troops. _Of course,_ Ray mused, _that’s exactly what he is. He’s reminding us that we’re his soldiers._

 

Ray took the chair on the left hand side of Sal, Jackie took the right. _Wow, this is one big desk._ Sal was going all out to intimidate Onofri – not an easy task _. Of course - that’s another reason to hold the meeting here_ , Ray thought. _Home territory, remind Onofri who’s in charge._

 

There was another knock.

 

Sal quirked a grin, looking for a second like he was going to laugh, then became solemn faced again. Ray bit back a chuckle. _‘I shouldn’t like this guy,’_ he thought. “Showtime,” Sal murmured, and leant over the map, pretending to be busy. Ray and Jackie turned their heads, so it appeared they were studying it too.

 

“Come in,” Sal called in authoritative tones.

 

The door opened and someone entered, presumably Onofri. After an insulting moment, Sal raised his head. Ray and Jackie followed suit.

 

Onofri wore his steel-grey suit like plate armour. He didn’t smile and, this time, he didn’t speak first.

 

“So, Pietro,” Sal said. “Let’s talk. We don’t have a lot of time. What do you want from us?”

 

“I want what’s mine, Sammy.” Onofri smiled – he looked reptilian. “I’m not being unfair. I just want what we agreed upon after the last…” he paused. “Major altercation.”

 

 _War,_ Ray thought. _He’s talking about war._

 

“We’ve kept to our side of the agreement,” Sal said. “So have you, for the most part –”

 

“I’ve kept to my side. You’ve been squeezing me. Your boys have been collecting in our casinos.”

 

Sal made a dismissive gesture. “You know how keen young _soldati_ get. They’ve just ‘made their bones,’ want to show off. And your boys do the same. But that stuff’s minor skirmishing. We’ve always ironed out misunderstandings.”

 

“Yes,” Onofri granted. “But it seems now that we’ve had a big misunderstanding.” He glanced at Ray, and looked regretful. “Somebody’s been telling lies about me,” he said.

 

“Lies?” Ray broke in, realising even as he did so that he was breaking ranks. “And what lies would those be?”

 

Sal gave him a sharp look, but nodded slightly, giving him permission to speak.

 

Onofri gave a thin lipped smile. “Armando,” he said. “We’re friends. Someone has told terrible lies. We’re friends, you and I.”

 

For a second Ray flashed on an image, a boy kneeling before a skull – this man had been there, at his father’s right hand.

 

Sal must have seen the expression on Ray’s face, because he shot him a warning glance. Too late. Armando was in his head now, and Armando wouldn’t shut up.

 

“‘You were never my friend,’” Armando said through Ray’s mouth.

 

Onofri’s expression flickered, revealing something ugly behind the false sympathy. “But I would have thought, _consigliere,”_ he loaded the word with as much contempt as possible, “that you would know better than to fall for lies. You should at least investigate the claims.”

 

Ray was himself again. _Shit._ “Oh, we’re investigating.” Ray pretended to be calm, fixing the old man in his sights. _I’m gonna stare the bastard down if it takes ten years._

 

Onofri broke the gaze first with a contemptuous roll of his eyes. He slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and looked around the room as if sizing it up.

 

“Boys, boys,” he said in a voice sugar-coated with condescension. “Why would I do such a terrible thing?”

 

Jackie was shifting in his seat, wanting to say something. Sal gestured for him to speak.

 

“You gotta admit,” Jackie said, wading in on Ray’s side, for once: “you got motive.”

 

“Motive? What motive would that be?”

 

“We’re too big for our britches. You always said that.”

 

“You’re ambitious young men,” Onofri said. “I know how that is. I was young once.”

 

 _‘Oh God,’_ Armando thought and Ray nearly laughed it seemed such an ordinary complaint, _‘he’s gonna trot out an ‘I knew your father’ reference.’_ Surprisingly, the old man didn’t.

 

 _‘He must be saving that for later, Mando.’_ His brother did laugh at that, and Ray let slip a chuckle _._ Onofri gave him a dirty look, before turning and nodding at the map. “What are you boys working on?”

 

Sal stood, walked around the table, his body language exuding easy confidence, as though his subordinates hadn’t been arguing at all.

 

“Territories,” he said, laying an arm upon Onofri’s shoulders. All of a sudden the old man didn’t seem so formidable anymore. Sal’s bulk made Onofri look like the boy. “I thought we should make it clear where our borders are. Seems things have shifted in the last ten years.”

 

“Strangely enough,” Onofri’s voice was dry, “I was thinking the same thing.”

 

“Well,” Sal said, his voice friendly, “how about you show us where you think your territories lie.” He lead the old man to the map. “I even got you a pencil.”

 

Onofri’s lip twitched, but he took the map. Ray tried to read the thing upside down, but he wasn’t sure of Vegas geography yet. He glanced at Armando, who was loitering by the bookcase, gazing at the medical tomes as though the titles made sense.

 

His brother gave him a nasty look. _‘So you could take the information straight to the Feds?’_

 

_Great... I’m on my own here._

 

 _“Consigliere,”_ Sal said, redeeming the word from Onofri’s earlier insult. “What do you make of this?”

 

For a moment Ray thought of honestly saying, ‘I don’t have a fucking clue.’ He tried to swallow his anxiety but to his shock, it broke out of him as laughter. Sal looked at him, and a smile quirked again at the corner of his mouth. Outright laughter might have been a surprising response on the part of the _consigliere_ , but it appeared that the Boss approved of it.

 

“That bad, huh?”

 

Ray sat back, smirking at the narrow miss, and shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll just have to work out another solution. That’s…” he looked at it, and nearly giggled again. He didn’t know what the map meant, but it was obvious Onofri was going to try to push the boundaries. “That’s gonna need some negotiation.”

 

Onofri’s face was a mask. _You don’t like being laughed at, do you, old man?_

 

“We’ll arrange another meet after the funeral,” Sal said. “Hash things out then. I’ve been thinking of a joint project we could work on, as a sign of good faith.” He started folding the map up and turned his back, dismissively. “Anything else?”

 

Onofri turned his cold gaze on Ray and pretended to smile. “I wondered how poor Joey is.”

 

Ray stared at the man. “The doctors are doing the best they can.”

 

“I’m sure they are.” Onofri sat on the corner of the desk, right next to Ray, and dropped his hand on his shoulder in an avuncular manner. “So, Armando,” he said, oozing concern. “How are you bearing up? It’s Chiara’s funeral tomorrow.”

 

Onofri’s hand felt like a claw. Ray couldn’t help it. He shook it from his shoulder, convulsively.  “I know whose funeral it is.”

 

Onofri flushed, then blanched with obvious fury. _You’re good, but not that good._  The old man’s mouth tightened to a bloodless, lipless line as he tried to figure out what to say. _Your poker face is failing again._

 

 _‘It’s him.’_ Armando’s words stabbed in the back of Ray’s head. _‘I don’t know how I know, but I know that it’s him.’_

 

If Ray had been carrying his gun, Armando would have shot the old guy’s head off in that instant.

 

“What do you really want?” Armando slipped back into his head before Ray could stop him. “And don’t say you’re here to negotiate territories. You’re here to see what you can steal. And don’t say you’re here to offer compassion, ‘cause we all know you got none.”

 

Onofri leaned across the desk then, right into Ray’s face, forgetting to be polite. “If I weren’t sorry for you,” he hissed, “I’d -”

 

Armando lunged to his feet, kicked his chair back and sneered.

 

“You? Sorry for me? What do you think people have to say about you?” Armando-Ray walked around the desk, Jackie moving slightly to give him room. Sal stepped to his side, implicitly approving the challenge. The brothers had his back.

 

“You’re a greedy old fool,” Armando sneered –

 

 _Oh God, Ray, you fucking idiot, shut him up._ This was - oh God - this was awful - this was like being stuck in a car, careening over the edge of a cliff.

 

“...That’s what people say. You think because you’re old, you’re wise, and you think we should all fall down at your feet. But if you weren’t such a vain old bastard, you’d realise what a good thing you got going here. We’ve been doing you a favour for years. You have your portion, and you know it. You have your casinos, your side of town, and you know it. And you pay us your percentage,” the voice dropped into a dangerous growl, “and you know it.”

 

“You owe me,” Onofri said. “Your fathers woulda been nothing if I hadn’t started ‘em off…”

 

“That’s it, is it? You think you can move in on our operations, and that we should let you because you knew our fathers? Well, guess what? Our fathers knew you too. They knew you were a fool then, and you’re a fool now.”

 

“You don’t…” Onofri looked one step away from hitting him, so angry he’d gone way past any pretence of being polite. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

 

Ray stared at the old man, and for one instant, saw Pa. His hands started to curl into fists, and the sharp scald of it brought him back to reality. His face twisted with pain and Onofri smiled at the perceived weakness.

 

 _Shit shit. Can’t look weak to Onofri._ Ray shrugged out of the sling, flung it to the floor. Stepped up to the old man, bounced on his toes like a boxer. Lifted his hands, presented them palm forward so the old man could see the bandages.

 

“Remember these?” His voice was cold. “Yeah, you remember these. I was more of a man then than you’ll ever be.”

 

Behind him he could feel his cousins - Armando’s cousins  - step into formation, one on either side. In front of him Onofri, old man though he was, stood firm. Ray could feel it in the pit of his stomach. Armando was gone. His brother had crossed the line, then left Ray to deal with the fallout.

 

Any minute now someone was going to swing the first punch.

 

The lights flickered and went out. The room fell into gloom, lit only by the sunlight streaking through the far curtains.

 

_‘He’s awake.’_

 

Ray looked over Onofri’s shoulder. Armando was standing, his silhouette a shadow framed in the door.

 

_‘Joey’s awake.’_

 

“Cat got your tongue?” Onofri spat out, “What’s wrong, Armando? Scared of the dark? You just realised you should have kept your mouth shut?”

 

“Joey’s awake,” Ray said, expressionless. Onofri gave a scornful laugh, and Ray shoved past him.

 

“I’m talking to you…” Onofri, voice raised, followed him down the corridor. All of them followed him down the corridor. He was vividly conscious of the tramp of Onofri’s bodyguards, the footsteps of the Iguana brothers being joined by their own security. Outside Joey’s door were fresh _soldati_ \-  the two men stepped forward, hands on guns. A handful of nurses scattered. _They must be terrified._

 

The door to the sideward opened, and the Jamaican nurse from the night before stepped out, blinked in fright, then set her jaw.

 

“I was just coming with good news, Mr Langoustini. Your son’s awake.”

 

“Thank you,” Ray said, “I know.”

 

Behind him he heard Onofri’s insults trail off, the footsteps falter. The nurse stood aside, and said pointedly to the men at Ray’s back, “his immediate family can see him now.”

 

And then he and the brothers were in the room, and the ballsiest nurse on the planet had shut the door on a bevy of armed men, as though she was the one with the gun. He should be grateful to her, but nothing else mattered. Nothing else mattered because Joey was awake.

 

“Poppa.”

 

“Hey, Joey, I’m here.”

 

“I know. You’re here when you’re not here too.”

 

Behind him, Ray heard Sal’s breath hitch. He turned and saw that the big man had his head bowed and his hand to his eyes. Jackie was staring out the window, rigid. _God Almighty._ _They’re trying not to cry._

 

Ray turned back to his nephew’s bed.

 

“I’m tired,” Joey mumbled.

 

 _‘Sleep well, mio soldatino,’_ Armando said and sat by his son’s side.

~*~

 

Sal was furious. He waited till they were in the limo, doors shut and shield pulled up so nobody could hear, and turned on them.

 

“I told you guys to keep it together,” he growled at them. “We’re trying to prevent bloodshed here, not start the damn Apocalypse. Between the two of you, you just turned a business meeting into a - into a declaration of war.”

 

“Well, at least you went along with us,” Jackie scowled.

 

“I had to! Family can’t break rank – you _know_ that.” Sal shook his head, violently. “And you, Mando. What are you thinking? You’re supposed to be impartial – you’re meant to be the voice of reason here. I know you lost more than any of us, but if you can’t keep personal feelings out of it, then maybe we need another _consigliere.”_

 

“Maybe you do,” Ray said with a weird mix of relief and regret. If he was deposed, the Feds might pull him - _Holy God, I could go home..._ it wasn’t like he hadn’t tried his best - he just wasn’t up to this. _Send me home, please._

 

But damn him – would his brother never shut up? _‘I’ve done this job for them over twelve years,’_ Armando whispered in his head, _‘and never broke faith. Even before that – since I was a boy I did everything they asked. And Sal’s going to dump me now?’_

 

Ray suddenly wanted to cry. _‘Oh, for God’s sake, leave me alone, Mando,’_  Shit, Armando didn’t feel like a mobster. He felt like a little kid whose big brother didn’t love him anymore. And Ray was sick of it. Sick of his brother, the self-centred piece of shit. _‘Get used to it, Armando,’_ he thought, _‘Nobody loves you.’_

 

“Leave him alone, Sal.” Again, surprisingly, Jackie was on his side. “We don’t need another _consigliere._ He’s right on this one. Onofri’s the guy - you saw him. All that ‘poor Joey,’ shit, and ‘how you bearing up Armando.’ He was gloating.”

 

“Yeah.” Sal calmed down a bit, settling back on the long seat of the limo. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I just wanted to figure him out a bit longer.”

 

“We got his number,” Ray said. “He’s trying to make us look weak, then he’ll try and take everything we’ve got.”

 

“Okay. You’re right. But, Mando, let’s be real clear on this - you sure you’re not taking this too personal?”

 

 _‘They killed my daughter,’_ Armando snapped in his head. _‘Of course I’m taking it personally.’_

 

Ray let out a breath, and smiled, for once more _consigliere_ than his brother. “Maybe I am taking it personally,” he admitted. “But just because it’s personal doesn’t mean it’s not business too. There’s such a thing as too much appeasement. At least Onofri knows we don’t fall for his bullshit.”

 

“What if it’s not Onofri?”

 

“Who the hell else would it be?” Jackie got the question in before Ray could. “I mean, there are the little families, but they answer to us or Onofri. None of them are big enough for a thing like this.”

 

“Isn’t that how we did it though? Start the big boys fighting, then move in when it’s all over?” Ray frowned. He’d worked out that much about the Vegas wars.

 

“Yeah, but that’s because you’re a clever bastard,” Jackie snickered. “Still can’t believe it worked.”

 

“You’re right. The little boys ain’t that bright.” Sal rubbed his knuckles on his forehead then laughed. “Shit, I’m sorry I blew up at you Mando. I shoulda remembered. You’re a ‘wartime _consigliere.’_ Came up through blood.”

 

For a moment Ray was puzzled by the reference, then Jackie was laughing. “‘Wartime _consigliere’_ – fuck’s sake, Sal, you know _The Godfather_ ’s not real, don’t you?”

 

Ray joined in with the laughter, though he still had no idea what the joke was. He and Ma must be the only Italian-Americans he knew who’d never seen the damn film. Somehow, having grown up in the shadow of the Zukos, it had never appealed.

 

The brothers were still laughing as their limo rounded the circular drive to Guardian Angel Cathedral. Ray scoped out the venue. He’d have gone for something a little less public. He felt exposed somehow – but the church was actually on the Strip, and the Iguanas had appearances to think about. And wow... did the Mob go in for appearances big time. People were already loitering outside of the church, smoking and talking, waiting for direction. The 'made men' and wannabes stood shoulder-to-shoulder with second cousins and nephews of business associates.

 

So many anonymous faces milling about – they might as well have come from Central Casting, just waiting for the director to shout ‘Action.’ Ray wracked his brain for the names, certain he could recite them like the rosary during his FBI orientation. Now, when he needed them, the designations eluded him.

 

He climbed from the air-conditioned comfort of the limo and into the waiting throng, taking his place among them as the stoically grieving parent. He kept his face neutral despite the surreal scene.

 

_It's a rehearsal for a funeral. It’s not enough to bury Chiara once - we gotta rehearse it?_

Ray did actually understand it, and Jackie had stressed the importance of this event. It was a high-profile funeral, and there were security concerns. The building had to be thoroughly scoped out prior to the actual Requiem mass.

 

Ray scanned the crowd from behind the tinted lenses of his sunglasses. Only Lexie was conspicuously absent; she had better things to do, namely, spending time with Joey.

 

“Hey, Mando,” Sal said, draping an arm around Ray's shoulders.

 

Ray couldn’t tell if this was expected camaraderie, given what Armando was going through, or if Sal was being too nice. _Shit, I still ain’t showered or shaved._ Even hiding his tired eyes behind his glasses, people were probably looking and wondering just how weak the Bookman was right now. He hadn’t slept well last night, and his brain wasn’t doing a good job of translating social gestures; what was genuine, what was manipulation. _I never was any good at chess,_ he thought absently. _Bet Armando was some kinda grand master._

 

“Hey, Cuz.” Jackie was easier to read than Sal – his usual scowly self. He was only here because, as _Capo Bastone,_ he had to oversee the security arrangements. He’d started smoking again, Ray noticed, dimly. According to his files he’d quit for a few weeks, then some crisis would start him up again. Presumably if you were a mob boss there were a lot of calamities – this had to be the worst one yet. Jackie sucked the last of his cigarette to ash, dropped it, and ground the stub out beneath his feet. “Let’s get this over with. Need to check the seating arrangements – damned if I’m making nice with your in-laws, Armando.”

 

Ray smiled at the joke. Jackie would be doing nothing of the sort. He’d probably be crawling along with the rest of his capos, looking under pews for explosives.

 

“Nero will have sorted out the seating arrangements.”

 

“Like I trust the Moolie. He’d probably just do it to piss me off.” He squared his shoulders. “I’m going in,” he joked. “Pray for me.”

 

Jackie stepped into the church. _Huh,_ Ray thought, and smiled

 

“Hey, Sal,” he turned and joked. “Who’d a thunk it?”

 

Sal raised an eyebrow waiting for the punchline.

 

“He didn’t burst into flames.”

 

Sal started laughing, and leant forward to make some teasing comment when –

 

Ray saw it before he heard it.

 

_What the hell? Is someone throwing paint?_

 

_Red – that’s red._

 

And then Ray heard the bang and knew what he was seeing. Blood.

 

All hell broke loose.

 

At first it looked like hail, but flew horizontally; then it was shivers and slivers of ice, and he heard the boom. It echoed between the towers, ringing from a thousand directions at once. He heard the thump of a gunshot, burying itself in the sidewalk, just to the left of Sal’s feet. Just where Ray had been standing before he moved.

 

The first bodyguard fell. At first Ray thought _blood, they’ve killed Sal_ , then he saw it was blowback from the fallen _soldato._ Sal was moving too slow, the whole world was moving too slow. Sal turned his head, looking to find where the shot came from. The Desert Inn, definitely, but there must be a thousand windows up there –

 

Another shot, and Ray threw himself at Sal, shouting, “down, down, down,” and bore him to the ground, just as another gunshot passed over them, taking out another of their bodyguards. Ray and Sal fell, with a crunch, against the shards, behind the limo. Sal struggled to stand.He was stronger than Ray, a lot stronger, but Ray pinned him to the sidewalk. “Stay down,” Ray hissed, and maybe he looked as fierce as he felt, or maybe Sal was hurt, because Sal stayed down.

 

More shots, and Ray had lost count, and _– holy shit – the bodyguards are gone._ A young soldato, just made, flew backward, the right hand side of his face missing.

 

Sal was still twisting his head, trying to figure out where the shots were coming from. The report from the rifle bounced and pealed between the buildings, a rapidly distancing sound like thunder, gongs – gone. _That’s a sniper rifle,_ Ray thought, _sounds like a light fifty._ Silence, for a moment. Somewhere, in those towers, the bastard was reloading.

 

_Could be it’s just one weapon; if there were two of ‘em, there wouldn’t be gaps while one reloaded. They’d take it in turns, blanket cover. So if he’s a single sniper, what's his M.O?_

 

_Shit. He’ll wait for us to think we’re safe, let us start moving, and then..._

 

_How the hell do we take this guy out?_

 

Ray took a breath, looking for bullet holes. _Angle of entry,_ he remembered. The dead boy next to him was shorter than Ray, maybe five eight. _How am I meant to figure out where the shooting is coming from? The kid’s entry wound is fucking useless – where he was standing anyway? and – shit. Too much of his head is missing._

 

Ray wiped his face with the back of his hand; it came away bloody. Not his blood.

 

_Oh God, that looks like oatmeal..._

 

_Don’t panic. I’ve seen dead guys before. Just keep looking for bullet holes –_

 

There. He found one. _Thank fuck._ The first bullet, the one aimed at Sal – or him.

 

Ray licked the little finger of his right hand, pushed it in the hole in the sidewalk. Felt the angle... _what degrees now? Shit, Benny would be so much better at this than me... Holy fuck, now he’s got me licking the sidewalk!_

 

Sal was staying down now, and Ray rolled off him, lay flat on his back, still using the limo as a shield. He sat slowly, carefully, pinky in the bullet hole, and traced the angle. He couldn’t name it, but he could kinda guess at it, if he had to... but _– just what I need a ghost at a gunfight –_ there was Armando kneeling next to the bullet hole, looking at him like the world’s most disappointed school teacher.  

 

“Basic geometry,” he informed Ray, and shook his head.

 

“Like this is time for a math lesson.” Ray snapped back. _God, my brother and Benny, bad as each other, expecting impossible things. I don’t know why I even bother._ "We’re screwed here, why don’t you tell us where the fucker’s shooting from?”   _Oh shit... Sal’s staring at me. Shut up, Vecchio..._

 

Armando pivoted around, from the point the bullet entered. Ray turned his head, following his brother’s finger.

 

And yeah, he’d guessed right. The Desert Inn – tallest building – where else? “There,” said Armando.

 

“What fucking good is that?” Even while he was complaining basic training kicked in. _Look for a glint, any reflection that’s ‘wrong...’_ “I knew that anyway – It could be any of...”  There: he caught it. A splinter of light, just for a moment, _reflecting from the sniper’s scope._ Seven stories up, three windows in from the right. _Okay,_ he smiled. _I’m not useless._

 

Even so... _Shit. I’ll never make that shot. Even if my hands were working, I’d never make that shot._ “Can you do it?” he asked his brother.

 

Armando shrugged Ray’s shoulders. “I have people for that kind of thing,” he said aloud.

 

 _Oh, great._ _The one thing I do better than Armando and my hand’s fucked._

 

“Boss?”

 

One of the young kids – not a _soldato_ yet, a wannabe – was crouching by his side. Shit. Everyone else had scattered – or died. “Boss? Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah. Here’s the plan.” _What plan? – shit, we’re sitting ducks here._ He laughed. _Maybe shout ‘bang, bang, you’re dead.’_

 

“Mando?”

 

_Okay, keep it together, and try not to sound like a crazy guy. You know what you’re doing – or at least make them think you know what you’re doing._

 

“Sal? Stay down. Play dead.” He glared at him. “I mean it, it’s you they’re after.” _They’re after me too,_ he thought, _but I don’t give a damn._ “There’s nothing else we can do. I can’t fire a gun, and I’d need a rocket launcher to even hit that thing. The only thing that’s kept us alive this far is the limo. So, we stay put, and we stay dead.

 

“Okay.” Sal’s skin was grey.

 

“You ain’t hit, are you?”

 

“Something in my back. Just glass, I think.”

 

 _Shit, he’s losing blood..._ For a second Ray saw Benny laid out on concrete. “Don’t move ‘til the ambulance gets here.

 

“Oh shit...” The kid’s voice hadn’t finished breaking, and he actually squeaked. He couldn’t be more than sixteen, seventeen, and he was chewing his lips, staring at the _capofamiglia_ lying in a slowly oozing pool of blood.

 

Ray started talking like a drill sergeant, to calm the poor kid down. _Don’t let him realise just how screwed we really are._

 

“You, kid – see up there? Seventh floor? That window?”

  
“Which one?”

 

“Count to seven, numbnuts, then three in from the right. Where the window’s half open, and the blind’s half down.”

 

“Yeah, sorry, Boss.”

 

“That’s where the shooter’s aiming from. If we live till the cops get here, tell ‘em to search that room.” Ray shook his head. _For all the good it’ll do. The fucker’s gonna leave the place clean as a whistle._ “Tell Jackie too.” Not that Jackie would have any better luck than the cops. Okay, Jackie could be more threatening in his investigations, but it wasn’t like hotel management could make evidence appear out of clean air. Whoever the shooter was, he was clearly professional.

 

“And keep your head down. You got that, kid?”

 

“Yes, Boss.”

 

Ray was correcting the kid – “Sal’s the Boss” – when another bang cracked through the air. Then another – and then... Ray tried to count, but too many.

 

 _Too close, too close, too close._ The damn bullets were too close. More glass shattering, metal pinging on the other side of the limo, the roof flattening beneath the onslaught and – _‘oh God my head aches –’_  Too loud.

 

When he opened his eyes he was lying over the top of Sal, and Sal was looking scared witless. “Sorry, Sal,” he said, “not dead yet. Just the world’s skinniest human shield.”

 

Sal started laughing, though he looked more like he wanted to cry. “Fucking hell. Mando, I thought they’d got you.”

 

“They already got me, can’t kill a man twice.” Ray turned his head. “Hey, kid...”

 

Awh, shit. The kid was dead.

 

He dropped his head on Sal’s shoulder. Fuck.

 

_Please God, Oh God. Let it be over: Ninety-three hours in –_

 

And that was when the cops turned up.

~*~

 

Ray had been arrested before. It had been a very humiliating experience – but at least then he’d had his friends on his side. He’d never had to do the actual ‘perp walk of shame’ before. They even had his hands, painful as they were, cuffed behind him. He kept his chin up and walked like he owned Vegas – which, by the end of this war, he damn well would.

 

_Fuck off, Armando. I’m gonna tear this whole house down._

 

His brother was riding on a high though, and didn’t seem to believe him. _‘Whatever you say, Raimondo.’_ For the first time, he called him by name. _‘You’ll come round.’_

 

The weirdest moment was when he was marched through the Vegas equivalent of the Bullpen, and every cop in the place took the opportunity to pretend not to stare at him. He smiled, and played to the audience. Okay, so he was bashed up and bloody - splash back from somebody’s brains on him, and literally red handed - but fuck, he was the goddam victim in this. He put on his very best swagger as they led him to booking. _Don’t you know? Armando’s a rockstar..._

 

Not that the guy questioning him seemed in the least bit impressed. Detective Burns from the Gang Crimes Unit wandered into the interview room as casually as though Ray was any other suspect, settled behind the desk, and read the report. He took his time. _Yeah, yeah. I know. Rub it in – you’re in charge._

 

Ray turned his head, saw Armando in the two way mirror. No way there wasn’t a crowd of people staring on the other side. He would have waved, but his hands were bound behind him. He settled for a magisterial bow instead.  

 

“So,” Detective Burns said to him, leaning over the table. “Can you explain exactly what you were doing, starting a gunfight outside a church?”

 

Ray sat back and smiled. “Why don’t you wait till ballistics get back with their report? We didn’t start anything. I didn’t even fire a shot. No civilians were hit and all the dead guys were ours.”

 

“Seven mobsters dead, and you had nothing to do with it?”

 

“Talk to Onofri. Now, if you have nothing else to say to me, I suggest you let me get ready for my daughter’s Vigil tonight.”

 

“Well, it’s a crime scene, so you’re not holding anything –”

 

Ray stood, hardfaced. “My daughter is being buried tomorrow. Today is her Vigil. You boys do your job, go find some actual bad guys, but don’t you dare get in my way.”

 

Detective Burns, good man, didn’t look at all intimidated. “We’ll do our job,” he said, “you can be sure of it.”

 

“Good. Then, let me do mine. I missed the rehearsal, I’m not going to miss the Vigil, and we’re having the funeral exactly as planned. Capisce?”

 

“I need to speak to my Lieutenant –”

 

“And I need to talk to my lawyers. Oh. And get my doctor in here. In case you haven’t noticed –" he turned so the cop could see his cuffed right hand – “I’m bleeding here.”

 

“We’ll call the paramedics to take a look...”

 

Oh shit... if any actual medical staff found out Armando was ‘faking’ an injury... Ray tensed up. He couldn’t let anyone look at his shoulder. He couldn’t....

 

“Excuse me,” a freckle-faced uniform put his head into the room. “The Lieutenant wants to see you, Sir.”

 

_Oh shit._

 

Burns just got to his feet, and left the room as though there was nobody in it. Ray heard the door click shut and the lock turn. _Huh... so that’s what it feels like._

 

Now he was in trouble. Because the one thing he’d been trying to avoid was a medical examination. _If they send in a proper doc to have a look at me I’m screwed. The whole op is screwed. Shit, shit, shit..._

 

The door swung open again, and Ray sat upright, trying to look like he hadn’t been freaking out. _Not cool, Armando,_ he told himself. _You’re meant to be cool._  

 

Armando’s lawyer swept into the room, in a flurry of expensive cologne and slick-backed smarm. Ray hated him, and his silver hairdo, on sight. _Valentine Pender,_ he thought, recognising the guy from the Feds’ photo bank. _You wouldn’t forget a name like that. A total fucking asshole._ Thank God though, the asshole brought Sarah.

 

“I’ll not be long, Armando,” the lawyer reassured Ray. “We’ll get this cleared up in no time.”

 

“Yeah,” Ray snapped. “Good.” _Fuck,_ he thought, watching the man leave. _I hate those sleazeball mob lawyers, now I got one on retainer._

 

He had a doctor too. How weird was that? _Almost as weird as having a butler..._

 

Sarah’s eyes were a vivid green. Right now they were focussed tightly as she tweezed a fragment of glass from his cheekbone. He squeezed his own eyes shut, because it was rude to stare.

 

 _Shit, I can feel her breath on my face,_ he thought, _last time a woman was this close..._

 

 _Don’t be stupid,_ he thought, _this isn’t a date. I’m going silly in the head here – any minute now I’m going into shock._

 

“Don’t worry,” Sarah’s voice brought him back to the room. “Your cousin’s fine.” The conversation was supposed to be under Doctor-Patient privilege, but they both knew there was a chance that somebody might listen in. “He had a deep fragment of glass embedded in his lower back, but it didn’t pierce anything vital. He’s had stitches and a blood transfusion, and we’re keeping him overnight for bed rest. The only thing that’s bothering him now is I told him to lay off the weight training till the stitches are out.”

 

“He won’t like that.”

 

“No,” she chuckled. “I told him he could swim, if he kept the stitches dry. That cheered him up. I think he’s going to grow gills.”

 

Ray smiled at that. “How’s Jackie?”

 

“He was inside when it all kicked off. Father Dennis slammed the front doors to keep the congregation safe. Your cousin wasn’t happy, but other than confirming his already low opinion of the Irish clergy, he’s unharmed.”

 

“Good.” He coughed, self-consciously. “What about all this?” He waggled his fingers, to highlight the black fingertips, from when he had been printed at booking.

 

“Ah.” She gave him a meaningful smile. “You don’t have to worry about that, the legal guys will sort it.”

 

 _Which means, don’t worry, the Feds’ll make my prints disappear._ The last thing Ray needed was for a Vegas cop to run his prints through the system and discover he was a detective working in Chicago... Or if the Feds had got their act together and changed his prints back home, there was still the little problem that he and Armando might be identical twins, but they didn’t have identical fingerprints.

 

Sarah smiled. “You have to be the luckiest guy on the planet. I’m surprised you didn’t do more damage.”

 

“Lucky!” Ray barked a laugh, then pulled himself together. _Don’t get hysterical in front of the cops._ “You got a weird idea of luck.”

 

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But the skin on your right palm’s been granulating nicely. Now you’ve gone and torn a little along your central palmar crease –”

 

“My what now?”

 

She smiled. “Heart-line.”

 

“Ah. So that’s what hurts.”

 

“But,” she said, ignoring his clumsy pick-up line, “if you can avoid any more gunfights the bandage should still be off for Friday. Maybe just a light covering then during the day, let the air get at it at night.”

 

“What about old Leftie here?”

 

“The infection’s going down. Tomorrow morning, put on more of that stinky cream you’re so fond of, and slap fresh gauze on top. It’s going to take longer, but it’ll be okay.” She shook her head, smiling. “I don’t know what to say, Mr Langoustini. You’re obviously a man dedicated to his job.”

 

 _We’re speaking in code now –_ Ray smiled. He kinda liked this – felt like he was really a spy.

 

“And... is that a bad thing?”

 

“I quite like dedication in a man,” she said, primly, and finished with the dressings. “Though if you pull any silly stunts like that again, I’m going to put your hands in plaster casts.”

 

“You’d have to get me a nurse, someone to spoonfeed me.” _Oh wow, I’m as big a sleaze as Jackie,_ he thought, even though he couldn’t stop the grin. “You know anyone who might be interested in the job?”

 

“I might,” she said with a sly smile. “I understand, you’re in the market for a new family physician.”

 

“Oh,” he said. _Damn. She’s not really flirting... Start thinking with your head, Vecchio. No, not that one..._ Stupidly, he started laughing. “Yeah, our old guy is dying.” _Good riddance._ He took a breath and calmed down. “You want me to talk to Sal about it?”

 

“That would be wonderful.” She looked up at him, and grinned. “Let me know.”

 

_Wow. Maybe she is flirting after all..._

 

“Jackie probably won’t like it though. He’s a bit old school, wouldn’t want to be treated by a female doctor.”

 

“Ah, yes. I understand. He has a moral objection to being treated by someone without a penis.”

 

Ray blinked for a moment, then burst out laughing.

 

“Now remember,” she added, when he’d calmed down. “Your first physio appointment is on Thursday.”

 

“Oh yeah, mustn’t forget that.” He’d missed the debrief session today – what with getting his big bad ass busted.

 

Next meet with Cash was gonna be a lot of fun. For a start he’d have to explain quite how he’d managed to fuck up a business meeting and start the Vegas Wars all over again.

 

“Oh,” Sarah lifted her head, listening to footsteps outside the door. “I think your lawyer’s back.”

 

And he was. Pender entered the room with a look of smug victory. Still smarmy as all hell, but Ray had to admit, the man had his uses.

 

And just like that, Ray was out. And there was Jackie, at the door to the station house, grinning like a pumpkin. The man was obviously on the wrong side of sober. He hugged Ray like he wanted to break his ribs.

 

“Ow! Stitches!”

 

“Fuck that, Cuz, get in the car.” Ray settled into the back of the limo, Jackie scrambled after him, and bounced enthusiastically on the seat opposite. “You coming, Babe?” he asked Sarah.

 

“Alas, no. Duty calls.”

 

Jackie looked regretful for about a minute, until the limo had pulled out. He turned to the lawyer and grinned again.

 

“I.A.’s gonna kill those guys,” he told Pender.

 

“Yes, Sir.” The man looked pleased about it. “Clear pattern of harassment and blaming the victim. The LVMPD are going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

 

 _Poor bastards._ Ray could see exactly what had happened. The cops turned up at a 246, dead bodies everywhere, and there was the Bookman, finally bang to rights, screaming his head off in the middle of a gunfight, covered in blood and brains and blowback, dead mobsters everywhere. It was no damn wonder he was arrested. Too bad the local PD had stumbled into an FBI investigation. Ray knew exactly how that felt.

 

“Come on, Cuz, you’re white as a sheet. You’d think some guy had been shooting at you.” Jackie lifted his right hand in the sign of the gun, mouthed, ‘pow,’ and grinned. “Get some colour in your damn cheeks.”  

 

“I don’t want a drink –”

 

“Yeah, you do, Arnie.”

 

“Arnie?”

 

“Yeah. You really are the damn Terminator – that’s twice they came after you. You just don’t stay down, do you? Besides –” The stopper made a popping sound as he pulled it. “It’s open. You gotta drink it now. You know how much this batch of Middleton’s goes for?”

 

“Not really –”

 

“Pender does, don’t you Pender? We’ll all have some. Get it down your neck. It’s good stuff, smooth.”

 

Ray swallowed and coughed. Smooth? Apart from fire all he could taste was - “What the hell is that? Mud?”

 

Pender looked profoundly offended. “That’s a peaty aftertaste.”

 

Jackie laughed. “‘Mud.’ That’s a good one, Cuz. Piss off the Mick here.”

 

Ray smiled, like he’d deliberately been messing with the lawyer’s head, then jerked. “Oh fuck.” For a moment Pa was sitting next to Jackie, sucking his lower lip over his teeth, the way he used to when he’d run out of money and was hoping one of his bar buddies might take pity. Ray finished his glass in one gulp, just to spite him. Jackie nodded his approval and poured another.

 

“That’s enough,” Ray laughed. His voice was shaky. _God, I’m really going to crash in a minute._ “You’re not meant to fill the thing.” Jackie leant back in his seat, and grinned at the ceiling of the car. “Fucking hell. Like you always say, Onofri’s shown his hand too soon.”

 

_Armando said that too? Figures..._

 

“Yeah,” Ray said, on automatic pilot. “You gotta admire his balls, if not his brains. Came out fighting.” He stared at his glass. Somehow it was half empty. He’d just got someone else killed. Seven men today, and then... Shit. Between the famous Vecchio big mouth, and losing it around Onofri, he’d just started a war. Some _consigliere_ he was. And some cop.

 

_Might as well have killed those men myself._

 

Pender stretched out, long-legged and languid. _Fuck, he looks like one of them water spiders... a skinny insect or something._ Ray shuddered at the image _._ “Things have worked out better than they could,” the lawyer was saying, savouring his whiskey with delicate sips. “Now we know for sure where Onofri stands. And it’s always good to have the police look bad.” He pursed his lips, and swirled the liquid in his glass, inhaled. “Anyway,” he continued. “I’ve spoken with the Undersheriff. Pointed out that the church itself is not a crime scene, so we can go ahead with the Vigil, just enter by a different door.”

 

“We’ll see who shows,” Jackie said, in satisfied tones. “That’ll tell us who’s still loyal. Reckon they’re still shit scared of us. They know the cops are crawling all over the place, so we’ll be safe – the church’ll probably be packed with well-wishers”  

 

Vigil tonight. Oh shit. He’d be going to a church full of mobsters, all of them pretending to pray. Funeral tomorrow. Mass…

 

Ever since he’d got here, he’d been not thinking about it. Not thinking about it the way he didn’t think about all the other bad things he’d buried in the dark.

 

A little girl was dead and he was going to her funeral.

 

“Cuz? how you doing in there?”

 

“Funeral,” Ray said, and he was shaking. It was all he could say. “Funeral.”

 

Jackie changed seats, slid next to him and hugged.

 

_Wow he must be drunk. I must be drunk. What have I eaten today?_

 

“Come on, Cuz,” Jackie was saying. “It’ll be okay. You know Nero. He might be a pompous fuck, but he’ll have arranged everything so it’s perfect.”

 

Ray knew that Jackie was talking shit, because there was nothing else to say, but he fixated on a single bitter word. Sobbed it out. “Perfect.” _Shit, shit, shit, don’t fall apart in front of Jackie._

 

“Come here, come on, come on. You’ll be fine. I promise. We’ll be there.” Jackie sounded strangely gentle - perhaps it was the booze. “Drink up,” and somehow Ray was on his third.

 

_Oh wow, I’m in shock._

 

“You done good, Cuz,” Jackie was saying. Armando was leaning into his cousin’s hug, so damn grateful for touch. _Poor bastard..._ “And you get a break for a day or two. I mean, you gotta see the Yakuza, they asked for you, but that’s it. Everyone knows you can’t do business now. It’s not being weak. It’s just… the way it is. We’ll handle everything else.”

 

“Thanks,” Ray whispered.

 

He lifted his hands to his face. One hand itching, one hand throbbing, looking like a boxer’s fists wrapped up under the gloves. _The Feds are stupid fucks,_ he thought with sudden desperation. _They can’t expect me to stay in the ring. I’ve already taken too many hits._

 

When he opened his eyes, the road was a black ribbon slicing through the desert. Lunar rubble, cacti strewed on either side. He felt like an astronaut, a million miles from home. All around him, the wilderness and sky spread out smooth and wide, forever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mio soldatino: my little soldier


	6. Chapter 6

  
It rained during the drive back from the cemetery. Ma would see that as a good sign. _It should always rain at a funeral,_ Ray thought, _even in the desert._ The thunderheads had bruised the horizon purple-grey, but the clouds were moving on. They left an azure sky in their wake, washed clean by the rain. The earth smelled of dirt and creosote.

 

 

Above the din of people talking and glassware clinking, Ray heard the grandfather clock in the front hall announce the passing of another hour.

_Chiara is dead_ , it intoned with each chime.

 

 

Ray wandered through a throng of guests he didn't recognize and whose photos he couldn't remember. Family had gathered from far and wide to pledge their flag to the Iguana cause. Of course they had. Their grief and sympathy at the death of an innocent might have been genuine, but he couldn't help noticing that all of the floral arrangements at the Vigil arrived with envelopes stuffed with cash "donations."

_The Vigil. Lexie was beautiful in her black dress, her face obscured by a long black veil. He stood at her side throughout the service. They didn't speak, and they didn't touch._

 

 

“Hey, Mando?”

_A marble mausoleum, carved with the name Langoustini. A small white coffin sliding into an open vault._

 

 

“Mando,” Sal said again, his voice low but clear, cutting through the noise. "There you are."

 

 

Ray wondered how long his cousin had been standing there. He blinked quickly, trying to bring his mind back to the present, but the memory lingered.

_A silent tomb. A spray of roses._

 

 

“Come on, let me get you a drink,” Sal said.

_Kneeling next to Lexie, the two of them the first to receive. Before them, the priest held up the Host. 'Corpus Christi...'_

 

 

“I don’t want another one,” Ray managed to mutter. And _Chiara is...Chiara is..._

 

 

“Yeah. But you need one.” Sal steered him through the crush of people surrounding the buffet that Nero had the foresight to arrange. “And we gotta talk,” he said in Ray’s ear. “Where’s private?”

 

 

Ray considered the possibilities. The whole garden was full, as far as he could tell, and most of the house. That was the problem with the open plan living area. The guests had spilled through it like a contagion.

_His mouth was dry. He was a liar. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t._

 

_The Host refused him. Ray tried to open his mouth, but his tongue clung to his palate. He bowed instead, and pressed his forehead against the brass railing._

 

 

“Probably one of the bedrooms would be quiet enough,” he said, before adding bitterly. “You might wanna check though. I already caught some idiots having sex in one of the bathrooms.”

 

 

Sal chuckled, but it was a sound that lacked humour.

 

 

Ray shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll use… we’ll use Joey’s room. Nobody’s gonna come in there.”

 

Joey’s room was nothing like his sister’s, not a trace of pink or a baby doll in sight. It was scattered with Legos, model airplanes in different stages of construction, toy cars, and books. A model of the solar system spun gently from the ceiling. It seemed that nobody had ever dared tell Armando that he shouldn’t stereotype his children.

 

The room was large enough that even the mess wasn’t messy. Scattered happy islands of little boy junk. Ray smiled as he stepped over a group of wooden dinosaurs eating a mystery object made out of Play-Doh.

 

Sal pulled up one of Joey’s little chairs, and grimaced as he sat down. Ray knew that face. “Stitches hurting?”

 

“Yeah,” Sal grunted. “Everyone thinks I was shot in the back. And I mean _everyone._ We even told Jackie that.” He looked shifty. “You know what he’s like; he’ll only think it’s funny. Reckon we can trust your lady doctor?”

 

“Yeah,” Ray smiled. _Holy shit, nobody trusts each other in this ‘family.’_ “Yeah, I think I can trust her.”

 

“Good,” Sal said, approvingly. “’Bout time you got a goomah. At first I thought she had her eyes on Jackie, but after the gunfight at the OK Corral, seems you’re more her type.” He sighed. “Put Lexie behind you.”

 

Ray wrinkled his nose, as if at a bad smell. _Charming company I'm keeping..._

 

Sal misunderstood Ray's expression. “Oh, come on. Everyone has a goomah. Just because Lexie doesn’t like it –”

 

“It’s not that.” Why the hell didn’t his brother have a goomah, now that he thought about it? He had hookers, but no mistress. Unusual for a man in his position. Another ‘Armando mystery.’ He shrugged and sipped the drink.

 

“Anyway,” Sal continued. “It was quite a deep puncture wound, and Doctor Sarah’s put it down as a gunshot. So let’s keep it that way. If we tell ‘em it was a bit of glass I look like a wuss.”

 

 _That’s two of us faking our injuries._ “Don’t worry. You don’t look like a wuss. You look bad-ass. The Iguana brothers – bullets can’t stop us.”

 

Sal chuckled again, mirthless, and then it faded. His voice took on a more serious tone. “You always did say you’d pay me back.”

 

Ray sat on the bed, awkwardly holding the glass of bourbon his right hand. “Yeah, well.” He stared at his feet. He had no idea what Sal was talking about. “’Nuff said.”

 

“Okay, Mando,” Sal said, looking uncomfortable. “I gotta ask. What was that at Communion?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You didn’t take Communion. Everyone saw it. Word’ll get around. Everyone’ll think you look guilty.” Sal cleared his throat. “Soft,” he added, finally getting to the point. “They’ll think you’re going soft.”

 

Ray blinked and swirled the bourbon around in his glass. _What am I supposed to say? Sal’s got a point. I am soft. I do look guilty. I am guilty._

 

He’d just have to tell the truth – or at least part of it. He lifted the glass and hid behind a sip. “I couldn’t.”

 

“Couldn’t what? Couldn’t take Communion? What, you thought God was gonna strike you with lightning or something?”

 

Ray laughed, and rested the glass on his knee. “Nah. God doesn’t whack you when He gets pissed with you.”

 

Sal chuckled... not as though he thought it was funny, more as though he was trying to pretend everything was normal, that he wasn’t trying to pick Ray’s brain. “You’re right, Mando. That’s our job,” he said. Then he leant forward, a suddenly urgent tone in his voice. “Seriously, Mando. What do you mean everyone knows you’re guilty? Are you _feeling_ guilty?”

 

 

Ray sat back, and found himself taking a thoughtful swallow of the amber liquid. He should be scared, actually – what was Sal really asking? ‘ _’Are you chickening out?’ ‘Can we still trust you?’_ ‘ _Did you betray us?’_ Just because he was in the firing line didn’t mean he wasn’t a suspect. He could just have hired a very good shot. He felt the bourbon burning in his throat, and warming its way slowly through his chest.

 

If he didn’t say something soon, Sal was going to freak. What was the question? ‘ _Are you feeling guilty?’_

 

“Maybe.” _I’m living a lie now, ain’t I? How am I meant to take Communion when every word out my mouth is a damn lie? Even when I tell a truth, it’s only to deceive someone. Even this truth._

 

He looked Sal straight in the eye. “Yeah. I feel guilty.”

 

Sal was looking uncomfortable in Joey’s low wooden chair. The man’s legs were too long, his frame too big. He stretched his limbs, and his knees popped. Ray winced in sympathy. “What you got to feel guilty about, Mando? You’re a good guy.”

 

Ray dipped his head, hid his bitter smile behind the curve of the glass. “Oh yeah, I’m a real good guy.”

 

“Are you…” Sal’s voice was suddenly quiet – more threatening in its calm than any of Jackie’s bluster. “Are you getting cold feet?”

 

Ray shook his head. “No,” he said, to the listening Feds as much as to Sal. “I know _exactly_ why I’m here and what I’m doing. Exactly. And I’m not gonna go soft or stop doing my job. _Non si pentirà.”_  He looked Sal straight in the eye, and lifted his glass. “You can count on that.”

 

 

“So, what’s the problem?”

 

 _The problem is, I shouldn’t be here,_ he thought. He couldn’t say that. _Stupid, stupid thought._ He swallowed another mouthful of the hot and bitter drink, realised with surprise that the glass was empty, and rested it beside him on the bed.

 

“The problem is,” he sighed. “Chiara is dead. A man’s supposed to look after his family. I didn’t protect her.”

 

“You did your best, Mando. You gave her everything a little girl could want.”

 

Sal was wrong. All any little girl wanted was her mother and father to love her. And yes, Armando had loved her – but he was always ‘working.’ Squeezed in time for her and her brother when he wasn’t being the Bookman. And yes, Lexie had loved her, but she was always leaving and –

 

Ray stared bleakly at the wall, and admitted it. _Jackie’s right. The woman’s unfit._

 

 _Don’t blame her._ _Blame Armando._

 

Armando was a violent man; he had a temper; he associated with killers. She had to guess he might be a killer himself. But despite this, despite everything she knew about him, Lexie had married Armando.

 

Ray shuddered as it hit him, cold in the heart, an ugly truth: _She’s in love with the lifestyle as much as Armando. The cars, the mansion, the clothes_. _Does she even love Mando at all?_

 

Those children never had the one real thing that kids needed: an ounce of real security, safety. But Armando _had_ loved them; loved them still. Ray closed his eyes, remembering Armando’s dreams, as vividly as if they’d been his own.

 

Armando had dreamed that Chiara would grow up happy, wealthy, and kind; that she would marry a good man who would give her the kind of life she deserved. Joey would grow up clever, healthy, and strong; he would be Management – one of the top three, undeposable.

 

_It’s so stupid, it’s kinda sad._

 

“Mando?”

 

“Sorry. Just thinking.” Ray knew he had to say the right thing to reassure Sal, that he couldn’t afford to lose the Iguanas’ trust. He’d run perilously close to it too many times already. From their point of view he’d cracked up when he burned his hands, he was possibly using again, and he’d been instrumental in triggering a mob war – though in hindsight, the war seemed inevitable.

 

_If I keep fucking up like this, it doesn’t matter if they think I’m Armando or not. They’ll still have me whacked. Or someone will._

 

Sal didn’t look like he wanted to whack him though. He was sitting watching him with patient eyes, like none of this was life and death.

 

“I already failed my family once,” Ray confessed for his brother. And that was true; Armando had failed his family, on every level. “I swear to God,” Ray added, thinking of Ma, and Frannie, and Maria, and the kids, “I swear by the Blessed Virgin and all that is Holy, I’ll not fail them again. Not now.” His hand reached out and grasped Sal’s as best it could, then squeezed.

 

Sal returned the gesture with a gentle clasp of his own fingers and smiled. “I know that, Mando,” he said, his voice warm with trust. “You haven’t failed us yet, and I know you never will.”

 

Ray smiled back, then felt his mouth twist into a frown. Why was he ashamed of deceiving this man? “We need to get back to the guests.”

 

“Yeah.” Sal heaved himself from the low chair, winced, and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. In his jet black funeral suit he was the embodiment of casual slouch and gangster sharp at one and the same time. “We need to be out there.”

 

 

“I know.” Ray tried to shove himself up, and Sal stooped. Painfully, Ray hooked his right arm over the big man’s neck, let himself be hauled to his feet.

 

“Hey, I thought no weightlifting.”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, dishrag,” Sal chuckled, and patted him on the good shoulder.

 

“I need a cup of coffee…” _And a lot of water,_ he admitted,so he didn’t have another banging headache in the morning. _God, why the hell did Pa do this to himself?_ The bar was definitely shut for the night.

 

“Right. Let’s go find Sarah. Jackie's drunk.”

 

Ray wasn't exactly sober himself. He swiped a glass of water as he passed the buffet table. He should eat something, but the room smelled of cigarettes and booze. The clash of sweat, expensive perfumes and cologne was making him queasy. _God, this is disgusting._

 

“There she is,” Sal grinned. “Jackie abandoned her.” He nudged Ray conspiratorially. “She made his eyes glaze over, babbling on about brain surgery. Well, you know Jackie. _‘Women should be seen and not heard.’”_ Sal rolled his eyes. He seemed to think he was all for women’s rights because he didn’t hit his goomahs. “What he actually said was, _‘Women should be fucked and not heard.’”_

 

As if on a whim, Sal nudged him with an elbow and said, “Go on, Mando. Make a move.”

 

 _What the hell? It's my daughter's funeral! I'm supposed to be married –_ He looked at Sal, the closest thing he’d found to a decent human being in the Mob, and slumped. _Ah, who am I kidding? Nothing should surprise me anymore._

 

Sarah had somehow found the only other ‘private’ place in main house. She was standing in the shade of a potted Ficus, quietly observing the room. Of course, she'd have studied the floor plans too.

 

 _That’s one hell of a big potted plant,_ Ray thought, as he joined her beneath the broad leaves. It had to be at least eight foot tall. _That’s a fucking tree._

 

“Armando?” Sarah smiled, and Ray felt suddenly weak with relief that, even though she didn't know his name, at least she knew who he was – sort of. “I think your ‘brothers’ are setting us up.”

 

“Pretty sure Sal is. Jackie thinks...” he trailed off, and put it politely. “Jackie thinks you're not his type.”

 

She gave him a pointed look which told him that she knew _exactly_ what Jackie thought of her. “Yes,” she said. “I’m a geek. I make no apologies.” She paused and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. “I hear Armando's a geek too. We could be geeks together.” For a moment that sounded exactly like flirtation – then she confused matters by moving in very close, but adopting a professional tone. “You’ve got to be really careful around Jackie,” she whispered. “He doesn’t trust you.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“You could do with back up,” she said, leaning into him, so it looked like they were sharing sweet nothings. “Between your ‘physio appointments,’ I mean…”

 

Ray gulped. “Uhm... yeah.”

 

“Anyway,” she slipped an arm around his waist. “If anyone asks, you were lonely, I'm comforting you.”

 

 _Yeah, but you actually are,_ he thought. _God, I wish you didn’t smell so nice...  Only nice smell in this room... clean and soapy, and... what is that, coconut? Must use coconut-y stuff for her face cream. Women, always worrying about their complexion._ He looked at hers. _Perfect._

 

“I’m okay,” he said. He put an arm around her. “Tired.”

 

She lifted her fingers to his throat, and he smiled at her audacity, even as he was slightly disappointed by the practicality of the gesture. _Holy shit, she’s taking my pulse! Right in front of everyone, and nobody sees a thing. Damn, she’s clever._

 

“You’re not sleeping well?”

 

“Uhm...” He flushed with embarrassment. “‘fraid to say, I passed out drunk last night. Maybe a few hours, then I woke up puking.”

 

“Ouch. I take it that’s not normal for you?”

 

“No.” _What, does she really think they’d pick an alchie for this?_ “Jackie’s not much of a one for portion control that’s all,” he justified himself. “Seemed to think me not being dead yet was a good thing.”

 

“It’s a great thing, but you want to keep it that way,” she said. “You don’t want to drink too much and say something stupid.”

 

“I’m not gonna make a habit of it.”

 

“I didn’t say you were. But Armando was a social drinker. If you’re not used to it –”

 

“I’m fine,” he snapped, not sure if he was more humiliated or angry. “But yeah, I’ll be careful.”

 

She nodded, a serious frown line furrowing between her eyebrows. “Good.”

 

He swigged his water, to hide his embarrassment. “I mean,” he made a joke of it, “have you tried saying ‘no’ to Jackie?”

 

“Oh, it’s not that hard.” She popped her head against his chest – presumably for show – but he could feel the curve of her smile through his shirt. “Something they teach you at Fed school.”

 

Ray couldn’t contain himself. It was Chiara’s wake, but he still choked on his drink, trying not to spray water. _Here I am, trying to look all nonchalant she’s just gone and chalanted me._ “Jeez, warn me before you do that. I nearly drowned there.”

 

She tilted her head up to look at him, still smiling, her gaze part friendly, part professional. Maybe something else, but... _Ah, Jeez, Vecchio. That’s just wishful thinking. This ain’t one of Frannie’s romance novels – besides, even if Sarah was interested, we couldn’t do anything._

 

“You didn’t sleep well at the hospital either,” she said, “the night before.”

 

“No,” he admitted. He didn’t want to confess that he was still afraid of sleeping. “I mean,” he laughed. “One day I’ll wake up dead.”

 

She shook her head, exasperated, and dropped her voice. “I’ve spoken to your... other doctor. She’s concerned about your sleeping patterns too.”

 

“Yeah, well. She’s a drug pusher, so who gives a fuck?”

 

“Armando,” Sarah swept a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, “she might come across as odd sometimes, but she’s right. She’s been doing this stuff for thirty _years._ She’s not an idiot. You need to sleep. I’ll go talk to Jackie or Sal, tell them they need to clear these people out of here.”

 

“I can do that.”

 

“You shouldn’t have to. These guys should know they’ve overstayed their welcome.” She shook her head, as though lack of etiquette was the most shocking thing about the Mob, and looked at her watch. “It’s past midnight. Really… some people.”

 

“Jackie got you that?” Ray jerked his thumb at the watch, an elegant thing on a gold chain that she hadn’t worn yesterday.

 

She frowned at it, as though the object offended her. “Yes.”

 

For some stupid reason, he was jealous. “That was quick.” _Don’t be stupid, Vecchio, of course she accepted the gift. What was she meant to do?_ “He must have fancied his chances.”

 

“Not being a complete idiot,” she replied, in her driest tones, “I don’t go out with murderers. Besides, odds are fifty-fifty that it’s stolen goods.” She turned her wrist so the links glinted. “Very tasteful stolen goods,” she added. “It’ll be a shame to hand it in when this is all over.”

 

“I know how you feel. You seen these suits?”

 

“Hmm.” She stroked his lapel. “Very fine.”

 

Just as he was thinking, ‘ _what the fuck, she really is into me,’_ she flicked her glance so that he raised his eyes. _Oh, that’s why._ Jackie was on the way over. _Damn. Get over yourself, Vecchio._

 

“Hey, Cuz,” Jackie breathed boozily on him. “You trying to move in on Sarah while my back’s turned?”

 

“Oh, hi Jackie,” she smiled. “Armando and I were talking about the plasticity of infant brains, and the potential for future nano technologies to...”

 

Jackie’s eyes really did glaze over. It was all Ray could do not to laugh. “You want another drink?” Jackie suggested, in an attempt to shut her up.

 

“Actually, I was going to say we need to take Armando somewhere so I can look at his shoulder. He seems to be holding it awkwardly.” _Of course_ , Ray thought, _she’s setting up the cover story that I need physiotherapy…_ “Has he had it looked at by a doctor since he was shot?”

 

“No,” Ray said. “We didn’t want to bother Doc Simmons with it.”

 

“Well, someone should look at it. There might be nerve damage.” She looked at Ray’s left hand, resting on its sling. Her brow crinkled in genuine concern. “And you should come to the hospital tomorrow, have that looked at too. How is it?”

 

“Sore,” Ray said tersely. His hands had been hurting since the fingerprinting yesterday.

 

“Wriggle your fingers.”

 

“Hey,” Ray said, in surly tones. “I don’t need a medical exam where everyone can see me.” He took a chance. “I wanna go in and see Joey tonight anyway. Why don’t I get it looked at then?”

 

“Good idea,” Jackie said. “I’ll get Nero to kick these hangers on out… hangerons out… hangers out on. You know what I mean.” He glowered at Ray. “And when you love-birds have finished playing doctors and nurses, we'll see you tomorrow.”

 

Ray tried not to laugh at how easy that was. “See you later, Cuz,” he said, and gave Jackie an awkward hug. Jackie hugged him back a little bit too hard. Ray grunted as something tugged and tore, just beneath his shoulder-blade. _Thanks a lot, Cuz_. Jackie didn’t seem to notice, just released him with a smile, and headed back to the bar, muttering to himself. _“'Plastic physio brains'_ my ass.”

 

Ray grinned at Sarah. She was frowning at Jackie’s receding back. “Careful ‘round that one,” she reminded Ray, and slid her hand onto the crook of his arm.

 

“I’m always careful,” he said attempting to sound more confident than he felt. She obviously saw straight through him, and squeezed his arm.

 

“It’s okay, Armando,” she said as she led him from the room. “I’ve got your back.”

  
~*~

 

Armando was standing by the side of the bed. Ray realised, with a start, that he hadn’t seen his brother since the police station.

 

“Where the hell were you?” He kept his voice down, so as not to wake Joey. “You missed your daughter’s funeral.”

 

‘ _Chiara wasn’t there,’_ Armando whispered in his head. ‘ _Joey’s still here.’_

 

Ray nodded at his brother. “Okay, yeah,” he said. “I get that.” He bent over, kissed Joey’s head, and sat heavily in one of the cushioned armchairs.

 

Sarah looked at him with an intent, green gaze. He looked back, raised his eyebrows. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” she replied with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

 

For an odd moment, Ray was back in his bedroom, gaping at his sister Maria, baffled by some comment she'd made. Sarah was giving him the same sort of smile that Maria had: weird, and a little bit sad. He still had no clue what it meant.

 

 _It’s that woman thing,_ he thought, _where they always know something I don’t._

 

“Here, let me check the shoulder first,” she said, brushing the moment aside.

 

“Really it’s fine…”

 

“I’m sure, but you got a lot of gangster hugs tonight, and I saw you grimace with that last one Jackie gave you. I just want to check the stitches held.”

 

 _They didn’t, but who cares?_ Ray knew already he'd lost a few of them. With a resentful tug he pulled on the knot of his tie, trying to loosen it. _Oh, fuck’s sake._ It was all he could do to put the damn thing on in the first place. “Look, can we leave it? Just look at my hands.”

 

“I’m the doctor,” Sarah said, and bent over, reaching for his tie.

 

“Am I interrupting something?” A very cold voice from the door.

 

“Lexie!” Happy recognition leapt across the room at him, from his brother’s side of the bed. For a moment Ray’s face brightened in a smile, then his heart twisted in an angry knot. _'Bitch left me.'_

 

Ray shut his eyes, hopeless. _Not now. Oh God, Mando, please not now. Bad enough on the other side of the room, now you’re inside me. Get the fuck out of my heart._

 

“Don’t ‘Lexie’ me,” Armando’s wife was saying, her face ugly with grief and anger. She’d been crying of course – they’d buried her daughter today, but there was something else.

 

“What?”

 

“What?” She turned her angry gaze from him to Sarah. “I can’t believe you’re doing this in front of our son.”

 

 _Oh God... of course._ Ray knew just what this looked like. Lexie thought he was cheating on her. Come to that, by now it would be all over Vegas that the Bookman had finally gotten himself a goomah.

 

Armando flashed an urgent denial and Ray stuttered as his brother’s words tumbled out his mouth. “You know I’ve never been unfaithful. Why would I start now?”

 

‘ _Oh you shit,’_ Ray thought, ‘ _you dirty liar.’_ He had a moment’s confused, sickening memory of strip clubs and party girls.

 

‘ _Whore’s don’t count,’ Armando told him like it was gospel. ‘That just for business.’_

 

‘ _Oh for fuck’s sake. In your world not having a goomah’s the same as true love?_

 

‘ _It was true love,”_ Armando snapped in his head. ‘ _Only the stupid puttana didn’t know it.’_

 

Lexie looked at Ray, her blue eyes like bruises. “What are you doing, Armando?” Her voice was void of expression.

 

Sarah stood, and offered her hand.

 

“Mrs Langoustini, I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding. I don’t know if you remember me, I’m one of Joey’s doctors.”

 

Lexie blinked as recognition hit. “Oh. I’m sorry…” She gestured vaguely, and Ray realised he wasn’t the only one who’d been drinking. “You were dressed…”

 

“I know, normally I wouldn’t come to work like this,” Sarah gestured at her elegant gown apologetically. “I was at the funeral with Jackie. Your husband wanted to see Joey, and I thought it would be a good time for a medical examination.” She blushed. “If you’d like to sit in… if that’s okay with you, Mr Langoustini?” Normally she would call him Armando, but she was obviously being as formal as possible to put Lexie at her ease.

 

“Yeah,” Ray sighed, and hung his head. He didn’t want Lexie running off thinking that her husband was cheating on her with a pretty doctor, right in front of their surviving child. “Lexie, can you pull the curtain round so Joey won’t see anything if he wakes up?” _I should have thought of that sooner._

 

Lexie nodded, and stepped into the room, pulling the door shut behind her, and drew the curtain. “I’m sorry Armando, I…”

 

“Will you stop saying sorry?” He didn’t mean to snap at her, but… “For God’s sake, I’m the stone-cold killer here. What do you have to be sorry about except for...” he stuttered, slipped into Italian without thinking. "...tranne che si sono fottutamente stupido da diventare mia moglie?”

 

Lexie sucked her breath in, and Ray realised that he’d just broken character, in a massive way. Armando might insult Lexie, but he would never have confessed to anything, not even to his wife.

 

“Mrs Langoustini,” Sarah butted in, just in time to distract Lexie from Ray’s blunder. “I’d be glad of your help. I need to have a look at his left shoulder… could you manage that? You’ll have to be careful when you slide the left arm out of the sleeve, his hand is very tender.”

 

Lexie nodded, and set about her task with the brittle focus of the marginally drunk. Ray kept his eyes shut and his head turned away, so that he didn’t have to see her through his brother’s eyes. He bit his lips hard to stop himself from speaking aloud. ‘ _Get the fuck out of my head,’_ he told Armando, uselessly. Armando didn’t even seem to hear him, just clung to him like smoke, permeating his pores, settling in his lungs... Oh God… Ray shuddered. He’d just have to hold him back.

 

“Good… thank you Mrs Langoustini,” Sarah was speaking now gently, and starting to peel back the shoulder dressing. “Don’t worry,” she said, trying to reassure Lexie, “it’s not as bad as it looks.”

 

He could feel Lexie’s fingers flinch on his arm, but she didn’t make a sound. Sarah’s hands were in latex – not how he’d wanted her to touch his skin, now that he thought if it. _I’m such an idiot – as if there could be anything between us anyway._ Sometimes he was just despicable – no. Pathetic. He was just so damn lonely for a friend.

 

“Hold still, Mr Langoustini. A few stitches need to be replaced...”

 

Damn, Ray missed being able to chat back to Sarah. This deliberate formalism was as bad as that ‘Doctor Grey’ woman.

 

Lexie had pulled a chair up so that she could sit alongside him. He could feel her hand resting on his good shoulder. Armando bent his head to her touch and… it was Ray who jerked back. “Stop that…”

 

“Sorry, Mr Langoustini,” Sarah sounded apologetic. “Very nearly done.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Okay. Now I have to listen to your chest. Last time the lungs were clear. You’re due to stop the antibiotics, but I just want to make sure the stress of the last few days hasn’t set you back…”

 

“Lungs?”

 

“Your husband had pneumonia.”

 

“Oh, God, Armando, why didn’t anyone tell me?”

 

“It wasn’t that bad, Lexie,” Ray said. Weird to think that only a few weeks ago he was in a hospital in Chicago, still adamant that he wasn’t going to go undercover, no matter what the Feds threw at him.

 

“Deep breath… and out. And now the back… good.” Sarah sat back on her high heels and gave a grin of approval. “Well, you’ll be glad to hear that you certainly don’t have pneumonia anymore.

 

“Does that mean I can stop taking the stinky tablets?”

 

“It does indeed.” Sarah sounded happy about it.

 

“Thank God for that.” Lexie was buttoning him up now, and he shut his eyes again. _Sorry Mando._ Ray felt bad for his brother, but he just couldn’t stand the way the ghost was looking through his eyes; staring at Lexie’s nimble fingers climbing up his shirt.  

 

“I’m going to leave the dressing on your right hand for now,” Sarah was saying as she washed her hands. “It’s well on the mend,” she was putting new gloves on, “so the less we mess with it, the better. Let’s just look at the left.”

 

“Oh, fucking _hell –”_  That hurt. Sarah was doing her best to be gentle, but his hand balling up into a fist. “Mrs Langoustini, I’m so sorry, but could you hold his fingers for me, try to keep them straight?”

 

By the time they got the dressing off, his breath was fast and shallow with the pain, and his eyelids were wet.

 

“Easy, easy,” Sarah said, like Benny comforting a horse.

 

“I’m fine,” he spat out, and screwed himself together.

 

“Okay,” she said, when she’d finished. “I’m going to go and write up your notes. And I think you should stay here tonight. I’ll have them send the bed back in here. If anyone asks, it’s just because you’re visiting your son.”

 

_Thank God I don't have to sleep in that house..._

 

Sarah paused, and looked uncomfortably at Lexie. “Uhm... I suppose you’ll want to talk.”

 

“We want to talk,” Lexie said coldly.

 

“Okay,” Sarah gave an inoffensive smile. Lexie was still hostile and drunk – _but let’s face it, she’s not stupid. It’s clear as sin I’m into Sarah_. “I’ll just be a few minutes, then back with the notes.”

 

Sarah nodded as she left, and Ray smiled, admiring the way in which she had seamlessly managed her two roles… working as a doctor, and not dropping character at all while protecting his cover. _She’s doing a damn sight better than I am._

 

“Armando,” Lexie’s voice was very flat. _Shit. She saw me smiling at Sarah...Oh fuck, I’m crap at this._ “I know you don’t want to hear this, I know I said I’d never talk again, but…”

 

“But what?”

 

“What the _fuck,”_ she hissed at him, “what the _fuck_ are you playing at? You already got Chiara killed. And yesterday, what, you start a _gun_ fight? How many times do you need someone to shoot you before you realise just how fucked up all this is?” She slapped out at him like she couldn’t help it. He blocked with his forearm, knocked her wrist aside. She froze, ducked her head behind her arm. He shook his head.

 

“Let’s not fight in front of Joey,” he said, quietly. “Hasn’t he heard enough of this stuff?”

 

She stared at him, her gaze sobering as she dropped her arm.

 

“What the hell happened to you?” she asked, with sudden doubt. “You don’t seem like you at all.”

 

Ray’s breath caught in his chest. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“It’s because Chiara died, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” he muttered, and looked away.

 

“Look, I know I said I’d never ask again but...”

 

“But what?”

 

“Please.” Her voice cracked. “ _Please,_ can we just get out now?”

 

‘ _NO,’_ Armando, fiercely back in Ray’s head. ‘ _No, she’s not going anywhere.’_

 

Ray blinked hard against the intrusion. “You mean like...”

 

“I mean...” Her voice shook, but she steeled herself. _Dutch courage,_ he thought. _How often does she have to do that?_ “Witness protection,” she said. “They’d have to offer you something.”

 

“The Feds, you want me to…”

 

“Please.” Her whole body cringed. “Don’t… don’t shout. You’ll wake up Joey.”

 

“I wasn’t gonna shout.” Ray drew the curtain back slightly to check Joey was still sleeping. Kid looked so young, his curly hair mussed up against the pillow. _Oh God._ Ray felt a tender tug on his heart. _Poor baby._

 

Lexie saw the expression on his face, and seizing her courage back, continued.

 

“I know what you’ll say – you swore an oath. And I know what that means to you – but I can’t. I just... I just can’t anymore. I can’t bear it,” she said. She was crying – not for the first time that day, and the dark tracks of mascara should have looked ridiculous. He wanted to wipe them clean, with his good thumb. Or was that Armando? “What if they come for you again?” she whispered. “What if it’s Joey next, what if they kill him?”

 

“You want to go into Witness Protection,” Ray said, slowly, a rescue plan forming in his head. “You and Joey.”

 

“All of us. All three. Please… don’t kill me but…”

 

“Kill you? You think Armando would kill you?” He was using the third person. He shouldn’t do that… “You think I’d kill you? Fuck…” Armando had loved her, still did. Inside him, right now, the ghost was carved up between grief and fury that she’d believe such a thing.

 

“You’re... family,” Armando hissed.

 

“What do you expect her to think, you stupid fuck,” Ray snapped at his brother. “It’s what you do, kill people. Of course she’s gonna think that. The way you fucking treated her.”

 

Lexie’s face went rigid.

 

“She asked for it,” Armando argued back.

 

“Nobody asked for that, who the hell did you think you were –”

 

Lexie was edging away from him. _Oh crap, Mando and I have been arguing out loud..._ Ray raised his hands, as though in surrender, and shrank back into his chair. If he could have vanished he would have done. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“It’s happening again,” she whispered. “Like when your mother died.”

 

“Leave that bitch out of it.” Ray was on his feet now, didn’t know if it was him or Armando speaking. “She wasn’t my mother.” Ray sucked in a deep breath. “Listen, just wait here. You want out, you and Joey, I can get you out.”

 

Lexie’s face flared with a hope so sharp it was nearly terror. Before Ray could stop him Armando dropped a vicious kiss on her mouth. Ray wrenched himself back, his lips sore where his teeth had cut them. “Wait there. Don’t move.”

 

~*~

 

 

Ten minutes later, Lexie was sitting in Sarah's office, looking dazed. “Armando, you’re working with the FBI? How long have you been…”

 

“That’s classified,” Ray said, pacing. There was no reason to risk his cover or further confuse her by letting her know he wasn’t really her husband. “But I’m working with them now. If you want to get out, they can get you out. You and Joey both.”

 

She blinked. “You’ll come with us?”

 

“No.” He said it in as cruel and harsh a tone as he could, and she sucked in a breath, as though he'd hit her.

 

Armando, when he was alive, would never have let her, or his children, go. Even now he was putting up a fight. “I can’t come with you, Lexie,” Ray gritted out. “I’ve got to… got to find out who killed Chiara.” That was at least part of the truth.

 

“She’ll still be dead,” Lexie said, her voice hard. “What good will it do if you end up dead too?”

 

“At least I can bring the fuckers down with me.”

 

“That was always it, with you. You don’t care who loves you, just so long as everyone fears you.”

 

“That's right,” Ray said, in his best Armando tones. “You got me summed up in a sentence. So why the hell would you want me to come?” He forced himself to look at her hatefully. _Remember this bitch let her kids down too._ “So. This is it. Finally. You, leaving.”

 

“You selfish bastard! What the hell am I meant to do? Shuck peas on a stoop in... I don’t know – Amish town? Cornfield Indiana? I’ve got a degree in classical humanities – when the hell am I ever going to need Latin? I don’t even know how to cook.”

 

“I guess you'll starve then,” Ray retorted. _Jeez, I’m in character today._ He shrugged. "Not my problem."

 

“It’s easy for you to say,” she snapped back. “How am I going to manage, a single mother with no useful skills, and an epileptic child?”

 

“A living mother, with a living child.”

 

“My child,” Armando interrupted, “and he’s not going anywhere.”

 

The two women stared at him, and Ray groaned. Armando had spoken out loud. Ray covered his mouth with his bandaged hands.

 

“Mando,” he said, “will you just this once shut the fuck up? You know as well as I do, Joey can’t live like this. How do you think an epileptic’s going to survive in this world? They’ll make his life a misery, if only to hurt you. He can never be Management now.”

 

“Julius Caesar was an epileptic –”

 

“Yeah,” Ray shouted, “and he got knifed to death by his best friend. So, get over yourself, and let your poor kid go. Let him have a life. I thought you loved him.”

 

Armando seized with pain; said nothing. Ray felt the silence flood back into the room; said nothing. Waited for the reaction.

 

“Mrs Langoustini,” Sarah spoke in careful tones. “Your husband has made his mind up that he can’t go with you. He thinks you are both safer without him, not just because of his... profession, but because of his current... state of mind. I think that should be clear by now.”

 

“Armando?” Lexie sounded miserable.

 

“I don’t wanna talk about it. This is hard enough as it is. I'm staying.” He felt Armando flare inside him, furious at his words, and quashed him. ‘ _I’m trying to save your family here, bastard.’_

 

Lexie was staring at him, like she’d never seen Armando before. “You’re really… you’re really going to fight them?”

 

He ground his teeth, and walked to the window. _Somewhere out there,_ he thought, _they’re getting a team together to save Armando’s family_.

 

Right now, someone was scrabbling plans together with swift urgency, and there were only a few minutes left for Armando to say anything that mattered. What could the _segaiolo_ say? ‘ _I love you?’ ‘Sorry?’ ‘Goodbye?’_ None of that sounded like Armando.

 

Ray shook, trying to balance himself and his brother, shook at the impact as their different selves collided.

 

“Don’t you fucking hurt her,” he told Armando, staring at the window. He pulled himself together and addressed Sarah. “How are you gonna get them out?”

 

“We’re going to move them in less than an hour,” Sarah said. “We’ll brief you with the cover story then. Mrs Langoustini, I don’t want you to worry about anything. The less you know, the better. Right now, we’re getting our people together so that Joey can be moved safely. We will get you to a very good hospital, and we’ll work on your new identities then. We’ll help you retrain, find you work, support you and Joey throughout. You understand?”

 

“Will Joey be alright? I mean… us moving now won’t make him ill?”

 

“We have experts on hand, and I’m sure we can control things until you get where you’re going. Don’t worry. The faster we move, the safer you’ll both be in the long run. And the safer your husband will be, because you won’t have the pressure of keeping each other’s secrets.”

 

“Okay. Okay. Okay…” Lexie shook her head. “I can’t believe it.” Tears ran unnoticed, down her cheeks. “After all this time…”

 

Ray felt a stab of fear. “Joey,” he said. “I mean… I’ll never know if he… Never know if he gets better.”

 

Sarah leant across, and touched his hand, gently. “Mr Langoustini,” she said. “It’s likely that he’ll always be epileptic. But we think it can be controlled, probably without surgery. He seems fine, developmentally, other than the hallucinations, and they may improve, in time. What you’re doing now, it’s his best chance at having a happy, safe life.”

 

Armando’s dreams for his son… Happy, and fearless, and feared.

 

_God, Mando, you thought you were offering him the world. You’d sacrifice him for that? His childhood, his soul? He’s not even a Langoustini. He’s a just another little Vecchio, lost._

 

 

Ray squeezed his eyes shut as his brother finally understood.

 

Armando caved at the loss. Ray groaned with him, covered his eyes with his good hand.

 

~*~

 

There was only one cover story that was all conceivable. The Bookman’s wife couldn’t run away and leave him – it would make him look weak. Joey and Lexie had to die. Sarah hustled Ray into a private room to be checked for ‘shock,’ while the ‘news’ got around.

 

The lie was bad enough, but hearing it being thrown around by people just down the corridor who didn't know he was in hearing distance was fucking awful.

 

_'...the MRI scans were negative...'_

 

_'...Langoustini's flown in a private specialist...'_

 

_'...they're in surgery now...'_

 

_'...poor kid died on the table...'_

 

_'...Shit – did you hear? The mother's killed herself...'_

 

“Don’t worry,” Sarah consoled him, resting a hand on his chest, trying to stop his pacing. She was almost whispering. “They'll be safe.” He gave her a disbelieving look, and stepped back. _Where have I heard that before?_ Sarah sucked in her lower lip, reached out to touch him again, dropped her hand to her side. “I’m sorry, I have no idea where they're going,” she admitted. “It mightn't even be in this country. But...” her voice gentled further. “Wherever it is, they will be safe.”

 

“Cash told me I'd be safe too.” Ray's face felt numb, like it didn't belong to him. “Look what happened yesterday. Nobody's safe.”

 

“Things will calm down -” 

 

“Oh, God.” He hugged himself, convulsively, and shuddered. “I don't know what to do.”

 

“What do you mean?” Her voice was neutral, and he realised with a sense of self-disgust that she was diagnosing him.

 

“People are gonna die,” he hissed. “More people. I can’t hack it... I know they’re gonna kill each other, but I can’t just watch it. I’m supposed to try and stop that kinda thing. I’m a cop –”

 

Her eyes widened with fright. “Don’t ever say that again.”

 

“You see?” He choked back laughter, but dropped his voice even further. “I'm... I'm crap at this,” he admitted. “I've been here...” he paused and counted. “One hundred and twenty eight hours. Five days, and already I'm cracking up.” He glared at her, as if challenging her to deny it. “I heard myself. You heard me. Talking to... to him.” His brother wasn't there, but he was scared to name him, in case he came back.

 

“Look,” Sarah said. “I wouldn't normally suggest this, but...

 

“But what?”

 

“Please don't misunderstand me,” she said. “I do think you're functionally sane, but –

”

 

Ray gaped at her. “Functionally – shit. You guys really do think I'm nutso.”

 

She looked pained, and reached out to him again. Despite what she’d said, he stepped into the circle of her arms, and dropped his head, rested his forehead on her hair. Cool fingers touched his face. _This is stupid, why am I touching her, why is she touching me?_

 

“I think you haven't slept.”

 

“That’s what smells of coconut,” he murmured, irrelevantly. “Your hair.”

 

When he opened his eyes, he realised that her eyes were very wide, and very vulnerable and.... He wasn’t sure what the expression was. Pity or affection, _but oh God, I’ll take either._

 

He kissed her. She kissed him back.

 

For a moment, just a moment, he forgot everything. Panic, fear, exhaustion, grief – it melted away, and there was nothing but her warmth, and the sweetness of her mouth opening to his...

 

And then there was shouting down the corridor.

 

“...stupid fucking bitch of a nurse, who the fuck do you think you are? He's my best friend, for God's sake...”

 

“Oh not now.” Ray shut his eyes, despairing. Sal had heard. Poor bastard was Joey's next of kin, the hospital would have phoned him the minute the bad news came through. “We’re gonna have to let him in. How can I sleep if he’s in here?”

 

“You can sleep,” Sarah’s voice was urgent. “And you have to. I know you don't like taking the pills but –”

 

“I never,” Ray groaned, “I never took pills in my life before. I've been here five days, and I'm on fucking pills already, and I've screwed everything up.”

 

“No,” she said. “No you haven't. The peace-treaty was going to break anyway, and you've got more on these guys in a week than anyone else has gotten in ten years.”

 

“Seven men died because of me,” he whispered. “No. Six men, and a kid. You shoulda seen him, Sarah. He was too young to shave.”

 

Seven dead, plus his brother, and a little girl.

 

The memory hit him again – the funeral.

 

_Oh God._

 

_They took his niece, Armando’s little girl, and slotted her into the dark, like her coffin was nothing but a shoe-box. She would lie there, in that darkness now, with the monsters who bought her father. She would lie there, in the silence, with that family, forever..._

 

“Look,” Sarah stroked his stubble, her voice calling him back. “Get some sleep. I'll speak to your handler as soon as I can.”

 

“Get me out?” he whispered. _Pathetic. You pathetic bastard. Pa’s right, you’re a loser._

 

“I'll try my best,” she promised.

 

It might be too late, he was never going to be the same, but at least most of him would be going home.

 

“Take the pills. I'll let your cousin in. I'll sit with you, till you're asleep, you'll be fine.”

 

“What if I get stoned, and suddenly blurt everything out?” That'd be a better way to die than some, now that he thought of it. At least he'd be too out of it to care.

 

“You won't say anything.” She smiled, and patted his good hand. “You'll just forget how to form sentences and fall asleep.”

 

“I’ll look weak.”

 

“You look weak now.”

 

 _Well, that was blunt._ “Is that why you kissed me?” _Oops, I shouldn’t have said that..._

 

Sarah glared at him. Maybe she was hurt or furious or both; however she was feeling, she kept it hidden.

 

She continued as though he hadn't said anything. “Look, Sal loves you – I mean Armando. He’s not going to betray you.”

 

_Not yet._

 

“He’s gonna think I’m using again.”

 

“I’ll just tell him it’s shock. He’ll understand that.” She patted his arm. “I’ll make him. Here.”

 

“Okay,” he sighed. He was getting used to them feeding him drugs. She put them in a little paper cup and handed him a glass of water. He knocked them back before he could change his mind.

 

Sal was shouting again: “where the fuck are his bodyguards?” Some poor nurse was trying to reassure him that she'd find out where Mr Langoustini was if he'd just give her a minute.

 

“You’re gonna have to let him in.” Ray shuddered and stepped back up to Sarah. She wrapped her arms around him. His heart suddenly ached with sympathy for Sal. The man thought his nephew had just died. “Let him feel like he's helping. Poor bastard needs something to help him feel better.”

 

And then there was banging at the door. He and Sarah stepped apart, and she was calling out ‘come in’, and...

 

Sal was in the room.

 

“Oh, God, Mando, I’m so sorry.”

 

And somehow Ray was enveloped in another hug. Not a Sarah hug, not a Mafia shoulder crunching stitch popping hug. Sal wasn’t drunk and wasn’t clumsy. More like a Ma hug, if Ma had been six foot four and built like a brick shithouse.

 

 

Oh, fuck, the big man was crying. That did it. Ray was crying too. And maybe he was more exhausted than he knew, or maybe the pills worked faster than he remembered, but... Whatever Sal was saying, whatever Sarah said – it was just noise now. Not Italian, not English; nothing but a comforting wash of sound as the world went out and the tide came in.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Corpus Christi: Body of Christ (from the Latin Mass)
> 
> goomah: mistress
> 
> Non si pentirà: I will not repent (Italian - uno pentito in the Mafia is someone who has 'repented' - that is, betrayed the Family.)
> 
> puttana: whore
> 
> tranne che si sono fottutamente stupido da diventare mia moglie: being fucking stupid enough to marry me
> 
> segaiolo: wanker


	7. Chapter 7

  
“Hey, Mando, how you doing?”

 

 

 _I ain’t even got my eyes open._ _I should put bells on the fuckers._ Ray rubbed his eyes with his wrist to clear the gunk out of them. Jackie and Sal came into focus.

 

 

“You look fucked up,” Jackie said.

 

 

 _Oh, well, that’s a nice wake up call._ “Fuck you too, Cuz,” Ray said. “What time is it?”

 

 

“About twelve…” Jackie was standing back now, a puzzled expression on his face.

 

 

 _“What!”_  Ray sat up abruptly, tried to get out of bed. “Why did you let me sleep so long? I’ve got a meeting with the Japs this afternoon.”

 

 

Jackie put a hand to his chest to stop him.

 

 

“Armando, do you remember what happened?”

 

 

Ray froze.

 

 

“Oh shit,” Jackie groaned. “He forgot. He’s fucking lost it for real this time.”

 

 

“Fuck.” Thing was, Ray _hadn’t_ forgotten. Not where he was or why. Getting Joey and Lexie out had happened so fast, he hadn’t had a chance yet to think through what it meant for him or his cover.

 

 

 _Shit..._ He was going to have to act grieving father and widower. The Iguanas knew that Armando had loved Lexie, but more than that – he’d just lost his only son, his heir – the one on whom he had pinned all his future hopes. Even if Ray could figure out how his brother would have reacted to such a catastrophe, he wouldn’t be able to fake it. He wasn’t that good a liar.

 

 

It crashed in on him. From the brothers’ point of view, his whole life had just shattered, and he’d spent the night in hospital. Of course they were going to think he’d cracked up.

 

 

“Oh... fuck.”

 

 

“Mando...” Sal looked lost, like he had no idea what happened next. Jackie looked disgusted, like he’d been expecting it all along.

 

 

Then Ray knew how to play it.

 

 

_Armando’s a rockstar._

 

 

“Sorry,” Ray said, and folded his arms. “Gimme a minute.” Shut his eyes. Both brothers were used to Armando being strong, and quick-witted, and vicious in defence of the Family. They also knew he was a fucked up loser - just like Ray - but they’d want him to hold it together. More than that - they’d _need_ him to. If Armando fell, everything fell with him.

 

 

 _Time to sell ‘em the Family Lie, make ‘em believe their own spin._ Ray gritted his jaw, so hard his teeth ached. _Armando Langoustini’s hard as nails,_ he told himself. The brothers desperately wanted to believe that. He could spin them this line. He really could.

 

 

He took a deep shuddering breath, not entirely for show, and opened his eyes again. Steeled his expression. Focussed first on Sal, who was looking at him with concern, then Jackie, who was looking at him with distrust.

 

 

“I’m okay.”

 

 

“You sure?” Jackie’s eyes were narrow, as though he was trying to stare straight through to the back of his head.

 

 

“Yeah.” He narrowed his own eyes, and put his hand up. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Tell me about Onofri… you said the nurse sent him packing? You mean last time he was here, or has he been back?”

 

 

“Uhm… he’s been back. With flowers.”

 

 

“Fucking hell! Get rid of ‘em!”

 

 

“I’m not some damn moron.” Jackie went red, the way he did when he was about to start shouting. Unexpectedly, he laughed instead. “Shoulda seen the nurses shit bricks when we started checking the bouquet for bombs.”

 

 

“Bastard’s got pudding for brains,” Ray muttered and swung out of the bed. “Flowers, for fuck’s sake. What’s he trying to prove? It’s not like he’s not even got any fucking taste.” He stumbled for a moment and Sal steadied him. _Fuck. I’m trying to be the hard man here._

 

 

“Where’s the rest of my clothes?” Thank God whoever put him to bed last night left him mainly clothed. _Sal,_ he remembered with a jolt. For a second he flashed on Sarah taking off his shoes, and Sal pulling the sheets over him. _Oh my God, I was tucked into bed by Salvatore Iguana..._

 

 

“Here,” Sal held out Ray’s jacket. Funeral black. Appropriate. Sal was rumpled, must have been here all night, and yet he still looked like that doctor Frannie watched ER for – George Clooney’s more muscular Mediterranean brother. Jackie was scrubbed and shaved, but he still looked like a man with a hangover.

 

 

Ray looked around for his loafers. _Damn... where are my socks?_

 

 

“Fuck it.” He slid his bare feet into the shoes. It would do till he got home… Damn. _I can’t believe I’m thinking of Armando’s place as home._

 

 

“You sure you’re ready to go?” Sal sounded doubtful as he manoeuvred Ray’s arm into the sling.

 

 

“What the hell have I got to hang around here for anymore?” The words started off suitably angry, but trailed away. Damn, he was such a liar. Poor Sal. Poor Jackie even. They looked broken up, and it was his fault…

 

 

_God Almighty, Vecchio, stop sympathising with fucking mobsters!_

 

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry Mando… but…”

 

 

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “You got that? Fine.” He glared at the brothers, fixing them in his sights, and saw them gradually becoming convinced. Good. He jerked his chin in a fierce nod. This was what the brothers needed to see; Armando on the warpath.

 

 

He looked at his wrist. There was a name tag on it and a little bruise with a puncture mark. He looked up and saw an empty bag. Sarah must have put saline or sugar or something in it, to stop him from waking up with a hangover. No wonder the brothers thought he was losing it.

 

 

“Fuck it,” he snarled and tried to pull the name tag off with his teeth, genuinely angry with everything. Dammit, he couldn’t get anything right - he’d have to hide the wristband under his sleeve till he found some scissors, and even then someone else would have to cut the damn thing off. He couldn’t wait for his hands to get better, so he wouldn’t feel so clumsy all the time.

 

 

“Did you guys see Onofri at the cemetery?” Ray asked, keeping his tone carefully casual. He didn’t want either brother to realise he couldn’t remember.

 

 

“Yeah,” Jackie confirmed. “But he didn’t come to the reception. He musta known he wasn’t welcome.”

 

 

“But he thought he’d be welcome here today, with his fucking pansy-ass flowers?” Ray scowled.

 

 

“What do you think we should do about him, Cuz?”

 

 

“I dunno.” Ray narrowed his eyes, speculating. The man certainly had motive to kill Armando. Take out the Iguanas and, yeah, there would be chaos, but Onofri would clean up. He’d let the little boys pick over the bones. Even so, Ray wasn’t prepared to have the guy whacked, even if the crazy life he was living now made it a possibility. _I’m still a cop._

 

 

“We don’t know yet that it was him who ordered the hit,” Ray said. “My gut says, yeah, he’s involved, but I don’t think he’s got the balls to do it on his own. Maybe he’s being used and someone else is pulling the strings? Someone who wants to take Onofri out as well as us. If it was me, I’d set it up so two families take each other out, then I’d move in when the dust settles.”

 

 

Sal laughed. “Yeah,” he snorted. “I know you would. Seen you do it.”

 

 

Ray gave a tight little Armando smile. That was the second time he’d heard that story. He tucked the information away to share with the Feds later.

 

 

“So,” he continued thoughtfully. “Who do we reckon that might be?”

 

 

“Could be anyone,” Sal said, scratching his forehead. “I mean, we got all of Southern Nevada now, it could be anybody.”

 

 

“If we go for Onofri now,” Ray said, “it’ll shift the balance of power. You got the energy for a full on war? ‘Cause...” _Shit, how do I stop more deaths?_ “You need to know you have the resources to go to war. With Onofri gone, all the little boys will scrabble for power.”

 

 

“Too late to stop it.” Jackie said, furrowing his brow. “You know that, Cuz.”

 

 

Sal concurred. “He’s right, Mando. You were both right, yesterday. Whoever did this, it’s been planned a while.”

 

 

Ray ceded the point with a curt nod. _Shit. It’s not like I can backpedal anymore. People are gonna die._

 

 

“You’re right,” he said, “and I’m not backing off.” He smiled at Sal. “Devil’s Advocate, it’s what I do.”

 

 

“Yeah,” Sal relaxed. Apparently Ray was doing a good job of playing wartime _consigliere._

 

 

“Next battle,” Ray said, thoughtfully, “it’s on our terms. We strike now, people will think it’s some kinda hysterical reaction. We gotta show ‘em we’re still in the game, and then whoever’s behind Onofri - and I’m sure there’s someone - will just have to sit and sweat.”

 

 

Jackie shook his head. “Sounds like more of your _Art of War_ bullshit. What you saying, Cuz? Business as usual? You know that’s not an option.”

 

 

“That’s not what he means, Jackie,” Sal said in clipped tones. “What he means is, let Onofri twist in the wind and hopefully he’ll make a mistake, let something slip so we can figure out what’s really going on and who else is involved.”

 

 

Ray nodded, thinking feverishly, trying to remember what he’d read in the files before he’d started this gig, trying to match it to what he remembered from the accounts. It was in something he’d read, he was sure, the answer…

 

 

It hit him, suddenly, and then he was staring past the brothers at Armando.

 

 

“What? Mando, what is it?”

 

 

Ray heard himself speak as his brother confirmed it in his mind.

 

 

“The Greek.”

~*~

 

Ray was disoriented for a moment, when he saw Cash standing in the new safe room of the hospital instead of Sarah. Which was stupid really, and made him a desperate sleaze, and completely unprofessional. Besides, he liked Cash - he’d just been hoping for a sexy doctor.

 

 

Ray sat on one of the workout benches. He was, allegedly, coming in for his first bout of physical therapy. Which was a hell of a relief - he was sick of making reports in a funeral home.

 

 

“So,” he asked. “Where’s Sarah?”

 

 

“She’s finishing her rounds.” Cash pulled himself up on the edge of a table, facing Ray, and swung his heels. He had shadows under his eyes... _so it’s not just me who’s working late._ “We can’t have her being your only physician,” he explained. “She does actually work in this hospital. It wouldn’t be realistic for her to stop in the middle of neurosurgery or whatever when you called.” He laughed a little. “And her patients wouldn’t thank you.”

 

 

“Oh, yeah,” Ray shook his head at his own stupidity. “You’re gonna think I’m an idiot, but I forgot her cover is her actual job.”

 

 

“Don’t worry, it’s hard keeping track of these things from your end.” Cash scratched the back of his head and yawned. “Sorry... Anyway, she can still be with you more than we can. The higher ups think the ‘goomah’ cover story is going to hold.”

 

 

Ray grinned at the thought of Sarah becoming his goomah. At least there was one positive in this whole mess... _Well, a man can dream, can’t he?_

 

 

“What’ll work,” Cash continued, “is for you to hire a specialist. We’ll get the doc who’s been seeing you with me. You know her already, and she’s good at what she does.”

 

 

Ray smiled. “Doctor ‘Grey,’ you mean?”

 

 

Cash gazed off speculatively. “That’s as good a name as any. Anyway… we can get her in easily enough, once we have her documents sorted. She wouldn’t have to be an employee of the hospital, but she would use the facilities while treating one of the hospital patrons. That way, you’ll have three of us looking out for you.”

_Someone else,_ Ray thought, _who’ll call me Armando till it almost feels normal._ He cleared his throat.

 

 

“Can I ask you a favour?”

 

 

“Certainly.” Cash folded his arms and gave him one of those sincere ‘I’m listening’ looks. He looked so damn clean-cut. Like he’d grown up on lots of fresh milk and clean air. An American version of Benny… only Benny, of course, would never operate like these guys. Benny would never be a Fed and he’d never have been bullied into this shit - he’d have found some other way. Ray looked over Cash’s shoulder, ashamed to meet the man’s eyes.

 

 

“Could you call me ‘Ray?’”

 

 

Cash had asked to call him by his name once before, in an empty church, and Ray had slapped him down, back when he’d actually been Ray, before they’d turned him into Armando. _Fuck. What the hell am I thinking? I’m not Armando yet. Please God, don’t let me ever be Armando…_

 

 

“I need…” Urgency hit him. It felt like his life depended on this. “I need someone to just… help me remember who I am.”

 

 

“Yeah,” Cash said, gently. “Okay, Ray. Unless there’s someone who doesn’t need to hear your name. You’re Ray. I’m John.”

 

 

Ray stared at him, then felt his face crack into a smile. “You’re kidding? John? As in ‘Johnny Cash?’”

 

 

Cash rolled his eyes. “Please, blame my Mom. She had a thing for Johnny Cash. Believe me, I don’t give my name to just anyone.”

 

 

Ray wiped his face, trying not to laugh. Poor guy had probably had people laughing at him for years. He couldn’t resist it though. “At least she didn’t name you Sue.”

 

 

“Yeah, wow.” Cash - no, make that Johnny - sounded like a pretty normal guy all of a sudden. Sorta half pissed with him, sarcastic, but trying not to laugh. “You know, I never heard that one before.”

 

 

“Sorry,” Ray chortled. “I’ll stop now.”

 

 

“Okay.” Johnny stopped pretending to scowl and pulled out the recording device. “So, Ray, you ready to talk about the Yakuza?”

 

 

“Yeah,” Ray said. “And the Onofris, and the Greek.”

 

 

“Okay.” Johnny smiled, and clicked on the machine. “Interview commencing Thursday, March 6th 1997 …”

  
~*~

 

Ray was in the middle of a very private dinner appointment with the Japanese when Sarah called.

 

 

“Now isn’t a good time,” he informed her. “I’m in a meeting, call me later.”

 

 

“It’s about your results,” she said, guardedly. “You know those neurological tests we did on your shoulder?”

_Thank God,_ he realised… _she’s trying to set up a meet._

 

 

It still wasn’t a good time to talk.

 

 

“You’ll have to call me back.”

 

 

“An hour?”

 

 

“I don’t know,” Ray snapped. _Fuck, what a time for her to call._ This meeting was crucial – both to the Feds and the Iguanas. If he screwed up now…“Look, if this is to do with a follow up appointment, talk to Jackie. He’s picking me up when the meeting’s finished.”

 

 

“I don’t think Jackie would be amenable to the suggestion,” she snapped back, then sighed. “Just get yourself to the hospital.”

 

 

“I’ll speak to you later.” He flipped the phone shut, slid it into his pocket, and smiled at his dinner companions. _God’s sake, the Yakuza. I’m sitting here, kissing the Yakuza’s ass. The things I do to save the world._

 

 

Yeah, well. It had to be done. If he gained their trust, the Feds would win a massive edge in the fight against international crime. If he failed now, they’d never get another chance.

 

 

Besides, it would do wonders for his standing with the brothers. If he could win this contract for them, they’d stop worrying that the Bookman was broken. _Onofri’s gonna be screwed,_ Ray thought, not realising it was an Armando thought. _Vegas will be shitting bricks if this works._

 

 

It mightn’t work though. So what if all Vegas was shit scared of the Bookman and the brothers, scared of what they might do? The Japanese weren’t.

 

 

The real power at this meeting was Cho Dai. Sixty two years old, and beautiful with it, she carried herself like an Empress, being greeted by the grand vizier of a foreign court. She was famously hard to deal with – and had yet to find an American partner she could remotely trust.  Not surprisingly, the criminal gangs of the US looked down their noses at women.

 

 

Armando, on the other hand, saw past her gender - not because he wasn’t  a sexist bastard too, but because he was a shrewd businessman. He had been reaching out to Cho Dai for some time. Jackie had been against it – Ray had heard the argument, recorded by the Feds in this very room. He wondered where the bug was...

 _‘Fuck’s sake, Cuz,’_ Jackie had snarled. _‘You can’t deal with a woman, they don’t have the head for business.’_ Sal, after much umming and ahhing went with his _consigliere._

 

 

And here Ray was now, reaping the fruit of his brother’s labours. Cho Dai was finally ‘treating’ with a foreign power. The meeting had been going very smoothly indeed before Sarah’s call interrupted proceedings.

Cho Dai was far too polite to ask who Ray had been speaking to, but he knew he’d have to explain, or risk creating a bad impression.

 

 

“I beg your pardon,” he said, feeling incredibly Canadian. “When I saw the number on the phone I had to answer. It was the hospital.”

 

 

“Ah,” she said. “Of course. How is your son?”

 

 

Ray’s throat constricted. The news had permeated the Vegas scene, but Cho Dai’s flight had only touched down an hour ago. Not one to mess around, she’d come straight to the meeting. She wouldn’t have heard yet. He swallowed, and took a sip of water to collect himself. Cho Dai was staring at him, the perfect arches of her eyebrows raising higher the longer he stayed silent.

 

 

“My son died,” Ray said, surprised to hear  his voice waver. “In the early hours of this morning.”

 

 

“Oh…” The woman’s cool façade cracked a little. He’d shocked her. “Oh… I’m terribly sorry to hear that. What happened?”

 

 

“He… sustained a head trauma in the car crash. His injuries caused convulsions, and…”

 

 

He coughed, cleared his throat. Cho Dai was still looking at him, waiting for him to finish talking. “He died,” Ray managed, and clamped his mouth shut. When he next looked at her, Cho Dai was appraising him, with maybe a flicker of compassion.

 

 

“And yet you are here now?”

 

 

“Yes.” Ray brushed his hand back over his scalp and sighed. “We had an appointment. I honour my appointments.”

 

 

“Let me see,” she said abruptly, reaching out across the table, gesturing toward his hand. Slowly, Ray extended it, aware of the bodyguards’ careful attention. Cho Dai took his hand between her own two, like a gipsy reading his palm. Delicately, she examined the bandage and fingers. Then she sat back, and looked at his other hand, still in its sling and splint.

 

 

“You hurt yourself in the same accident?”

 

 

“It was not an accident,” Ray stated calmly. Cho Dai would already know that. She was presumably trying to figure out if the Iguanas and the Bookman were too weak for her to do business with. “However,” Ray continued, “appropriate measures are underway. There won’t be any further problems.”

 

 

“I see.” She lifted her glass of water to her lips. “So. The call from the hospital, was it regarding your health?”

 

 

“Just some follow up care. Nothing too serious.”

 

 

She bowed in silence as though praying, then lifted her head, and gave a perfectly painted curve of a smile. “Mr Langoustini, I too am acquainted with loss. I don’t know what your beliefs tell you about the afterlife, but I’m sure your son is at peace.”

 

 

“Please, call me Armando,” Ray said, and then told one of his private truths. “And you’re right. Joey is in a better place.”

 

 

She nodded again. “Will you and your brothers meet with us this evening? We will drink _nihonshu_  together.”

 

 

Ray’s mouth went dry. He and the Iguanas were being invited by the _Oyabun_ of one of Japan’s greatest _ninkyō dantai_ to share sake. _That’s as close to a blood oath as makes no difference._

 

 

“You may call me ‘Nee-San,’” she continued.

 

 

God… he’d really done it. He’d got them in. The Iguanas were Family… Cho Dai had invited them to call her ‘Big Sister.’”

 

 

Ray got to his feet and bowed. “’Nee-San,’” he said. “We’re honoured, and we accept your invitation.”

 

 

“Good,” she said. “My people will tell you when.” She stood and returned his bow.

“Until then, Armando.” She snapped her fingers, gestured to her entourage, and left. Ray remained standing till she had cleared the room, then sank back into his seat.

 

 

Somewhere in a listening post, there were a bunch of Feds whooping and punching the air. _Shit - Armando’s not the rockstar, I am._ He pulled out his phone to get the news to his cousins... shit. Armando’s cousins.

 

 

“Hey, Sal,” he said, cheerfully when the other man answered his cell. “Guess what?

Good news…”

  
~*~

 

“That went really, really well.” Jackie was sprawled out in the back of the limo, stretched against the leather upholstery grinning, and rubbing his palms gleefully. He looked like Frannie putting on hand lotion, or a comedy miser. Ray smiled at the image, and leaned sideways, slinging an arm across the man’s shoulder.

 

 

“It did at that,” he said. “I can’t believe we pulled it off.”

 

 

“Hey, don’t be modest, Mando.” Sal was beaming at him proudly. “You pulled it off. The whole thing was your idea… all that weird crap with the tea. They loved it.”

 

 

“Apparently.”

 

 

“Gotta say,” Sal stretched out his legs, propping them up on the opposite seat, “I prefer sake to that green crap.”

 

 

“You mean tea, surely,” Ray said, in his best dryly humorous Benny voice.

 

 

“Yeah,” Sal laughed. “Green tea crap.”

 

 

“Sal,” Jackie said, “you should have a drink more often.”

 

 

Sal snorted dismissively. He was pink in the cheeks. Not that he never had a drink, but he took his training seriously. A wine with dinner man - like Ray. But although Sal was a little merry, he’d managed not to make a fool of himself. Helped he was a big guy.

 

 

Ray grinned again, thinking of how Benny would have reacted to a social situation in which he’d be expected to drink or offend his hosts. Probably much as Sal had: increasingly careful with his diction and painfully polite. He’d been surprised, actually, by how much sake had been shared. He went as slowly as he could, but every time his cup was half empty, Cho Dai - _‘Nee-San’_ now - topped it up. Maybe the Japanese had been trying to get them drunk to put them off their game. Maybe he and the brothers were just ignorant Yanks, and they’d missed some kind of social cue…

 

 

Benny woulda probably known how to say it in Japanese: _‘Thank you kindly, Nee-San, but I think I’m going to hurl now.’_

 

 

Ray stifled a giggle and looked out the window. He was feeling queasy and the best way to avoid car sickness was to look at the world outside. The stars were out… real stars. They’d left the dazzle of Vegas behind and the desert air was kind to the sky. _Benny’d love it out here…_

 

 

Holy shit, third day in a row, and he was drunk again. It should have scared him because he’d never cared for alcohol and... and because of Pa. Okay, so three days in a row wasn’t gonna turn him into an alchie, but Sarah was right. Now wasn’t a good time to start boozing.

 

 

 _Don’t worry, Vecchio. It’s not like I’m gonna be drinking sake with the Yakuza every week._ Ray still couldn’t believe they’d pulled it off. _They all fucking fell for it. I’m the king of bullshit._

 

 

 _Don’t laugh,_ Ray told himself, sternly, as another giggle tried to push its way up. He kept staring out the window, and paused to gather his thoughts. “You know,” he pointed out, “it went well, but it’s not safe to get too comfortable.” _See,_ he thought, _you sound perfectly fine._ “We don’t want the Japanese thinking we’re taking them for granted. It’s disrespectful. And we don’t want to forget who we’re dealing with. I mean… this is serious stuff.”

 

 

“Yeah.” Jackie’s voice went hard for a moment. For once he was the ‘sober’ member of the family. “And right about now, we can’t have anyone making us look weak.”

 

 

“We don’t look weak, Cuz.”

 

 

Jackie didn’t know it, but his expression was clearly visible against the night window. Ray could see exactly what he was thinking. The man was assessing him - taking in Ray’s bandaged hands. No doubt noticing how tired he was. Had he noticed yet that Ray wasn’t the Armando he was used to?

 

 

“Maybe we look weak,” Jackie said, “maybe we don’t. But you gotta admit, we do look like we’ve taken a few hits. So, the Japs make us look good, but folks are scared right now, don’t know which side to back.”

 

 

Ray turned and looked at him, smiled, just like the calm _consigliere_ he was pretending to be. “We got a hell of a lot of ‘em backing us.”

 

 

“Yeah. But we gotta remind the rest of ‘em who we are.”

 

 

“How do you propose we do that?” Ray kept his voice dry. He hoped he was just being paranoid, and he knew booze could do that to you, but it sounded like Jackie thought he was the weak link. “How do we ‘remind them who we are?’”  He knew what was coming, but he wanted Jackie to say it.

 

 

“We kill the Greek.”

 

 

Ray nodded. “Yeah.” He turned his head to look back out the window, his warm buzz fading. _‘We’re not here to save the bad guys,’_ Cash said in his head, every inch the Fed, and not Johnny at all. The Greek was as good as dead, and Ray was gonna have to stand and watch it happen.

 

 

“What we gonna do about Onofri?” Sal asked. _God, as if things weren’t bad enough._ His voice was just as practical and business-like as Jackie’s.

 

 

“I dunno… whatcha think, Armando?” Jackie’s voice sounded casual, and Ray suddenly knew that he was having his mettle tested. Jackie wasn’t a hundred per cent certain that his cousin was ‘right’ yet.

 

 

He turned in his seat, and stared at Jackie, trying to think of the right thing to say. He had to maintain his cover, but he couldn’t order a hit… not even on Onofri, not even on the Greek. He wouldn’t even kill Victoria, he realised, with surprise, at least, not in cold blood. If he ever found the bitch, he’d hand her over to justice… make Benny proud of him. _I’m still Ray,_ he told himself. _Ray Vecchio. I’m still a cop. Not a bad guy yet._

 

 

“Cuz?” Jackie was looking too relaxed.

 

 

“We’ll see,” Ray said. “We could take Onofri out, but -” _shit, what do I say?_ “You know, we could just let him do it to himself…”

 

 

“What the hell does that mean?”

 

 

“You know what it’s like when people get scared. I reckon he’s scared.” _Oh, shit, I’m scared..._ “We should let him make his own mistakes.”

 

 

“You think?” Jackie looked doubtful, but was trying to hide his distrust. “I suppose it might work, but it depends what we’re gonna do about the Greek. We can’t have people thinking we’re what… merciful all of a sudden. We’ve gotta take at least one of ‘em out. Otherwise they’ll think we got religion or something.” He smiled, as though expecting a laugh. Ray smiled back, tightly.

 

 

“So…” Jackie continued. “What you got in mind, Cuz?”

 

 

 _What the fuck do I say?_ Panic flashed in Ray’s chest and he stared at Jackie. Stared at Sal. _How far can I go along with this?_

 

 

For a horrid moment Ray froze. Jackie was looking at him, his face increasingly still and masklike. Sal was leaning forward over his knees, also looking at him too hard. _No wonder they’re called the Iguanas,_ he thought, crazily, _they’re fucking lizards…_ He was cracking up… any minute now they’d realise Armando wasn’t the same guy they knew. They mightn’t know why, but they’d realise they couldn’t trust him anymore…

 

 

And… oh fuck. Thank fuck… There was Armando, sitting opposite, smiling.

 

 

_‘Let me take care of this.’_

 

 

Pa was right, Ray realised, as he caved. He was a coward after all. He’d always been a coward.

 

 

Armando reached out to him. Ray slid right out of his skin and let Armando slither in...

 

 

... and then he was face down on silk sheets, still in his suit, and he had no fucking idea how he’d got there. The mattress rolled beneath him, rising and falling like a wave. He thought it was vertigo - then he realised; he was on the waterbed in Jackie’s guestroom.

 

 

Oh… FUCK.

 

 

He sat up with a sickening lurch of nausea. What the hell happened? What the hell did he say? Do? Had he maintained his cover? Shit.

 

 

The Japanese. Sake. He’d been okay when he got to the limo. He’d had too much to drink, but not enough to black out. He’d been okay… he knew he’d been okay. So… what the hell happened next?

 

 

He’d been in the limo with Sal and Jackie, and…

 

 

Armando. He’d been in the limo with Armando.

 

 

He’d been in the limo _as_ Armando.

 

 

“Shit…”

 

 

And then...

_Skouloudis, tied to a chair in some grimy concrete place. Jackie’s boys had already been ‘working’ him._

 

 

_Pa, eager, bouncing next to him, like a boxing coach, egging him on._

_‘Never kick ‘em with the front of your foot, Son, you’ll only break your toes…’_

 

 

_The crack of shoe leather as his heel connected with Skouloudis’ ribs._

 

 

Skouloudis had started off swearing, threatening. In the end he was begging.

 

 

Who did that? Was that him, or Armando?

 

 

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to remember, but – oh God.

 

 

He remembered. He remembered everything.

 

~*~

 

 

“What do you mean ‘don’t worry?’”

 

 

“I mean…” Johnny rubbed his face tiredly with the heels of his hands. Ray had dropped off the Fed’s radar, so the guy must have been up all night, wondering where the fuck he was. Johnny hadn’t shaved and his clothes were wrinkled. “...I mean you have to preserve your cover and you did.”

 

 

“I beat the shit out of some guy. Did you hear what I said? I broke his fucking ribs.”

 

 

“Look, they were going to do it anyway. The fact that… the fact that it was you…” Johnny stumbled over his words, started again. “In a way it’s actually a good thing,” he looked frustrated, as though he didn’t know how to explain himself. “What I mean is…” He sighed. “It’s good for your cover, they’ll never suspect you’re undercover after a thing like that.”

 

 

“I’m not undercover.” Ray turned right round in his chair, his back to his friend, his face to the wall.

 

 

“What do you mean you’re not undercover?”

 

 

“I’m drowning.”

 

 

Johnny put a hand on his shoulder. “Ray,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. But that’s the job.”

 

 

The wall was beige. He was crying. What good did ‘sorry’ ever do anyone? He wiped his face on the back of his sleeve. Oh God… he’d been hoping the Feds would pull him out. Put him in prison, in a mental hospital – anything.

 

 

“Johnny,” he choked out. “They’re gonna kill him tonight.”

 

 

Johnny scraped a chair next to him, sat by his side. “Ray,” he said, squeezing his arm. “Look at me.”

 

 

Ray looked.

 

 

“There’s only one way you’re going to come out of this alive.” The man’s eyes blazed with urgency. “You have to accept it. If you don’t, you’re dead.”

 

 

Dead like Armando. Dead like Pa. He didn’t want to die. He couldn’t let anybody kill him. Because then, it would never end. He knew that now – he knew ghosts. Ghosts didn't get to change, they didn't get to put things right. They didn't even get to sleep. They walked around, doing nothing but endure; day and night, the same old thing, Hell on Earth over and over again. _Oh God, what if someone kills me and then it never fucking stops? What if I end up in Hell like Armando and Pa?_

 

 

“Come on.” Johnny’s gaze had softened. Now he just looked concerned. “You take sugar in your coffee, right?”

 

 

“Yeah,” Ray whispered. “No cream.”

 

 

Johnny gave his good shoulder a light pat. “Okay then.” He stepped out for a moment, returned with the coffee. “Get this down you.”

 

 

 _That hand really is much better,_ he thought, irrelevantly, as he lifted the Styrofoam cup. The coffee was instant, nowhere near as good as the stuff Jackie made this morning. But the sugar and caffeine were helping…

 

 

“Alright… Ray?” Johnny sounded like he was talking to a kid, and though Ray should’ve been pissed about it, he found it didn’t bother him much. “Sarah’s finished her rounds. She’s coming to see you now. You okay to see her?”

 

 

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

 

 

“Good. Look, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, when you’ve had a chance to calm down. The Iguanas don’t have anything big planned for you, the next few days?”

 

 

“No,” Ray said, “No. It was just the Japanese...”

 

 

“Okay. So, you take a day for yourself. Let Sarah look out for you. She’ll do her doctor thing, you pretend you’re together – hide out in a hotel, order room service, watch some crappy movies. Just relax. Can you do that?”

 

 

 _Relax... my ass._ “Yeah. Okay.”

 

 

Johnny fell for it, or pretended to. Either way, he looked relieved.

 

 

“Okay, I’ll let her in now.”

 

 

Ray shut his eyes as the guard changed. He didn’t bother listening to the muttering at the door as Johnny updated Sarah. There was no point. There was nothing to do, or say.

 

 

Johnny stepped out, Sarah stepped in.

 

 

“Armando?”

 

 

“Yeah.” He burst out crying like a fool. “That’s me.”

 

~*~

 

Ray wasn’t quite sure how long it took - probably not as long as it felt - but after a little while he’d stopped crying, and a little while after that he was calm enough to walk out of the building as ‘Armando,’ with Sarah on his arm.

 

 

It was only when they’d reached the hotel and stepped into the Honeymoon suite that he realised every man they walked past looked at Sarah like she was a whore. In the hospital, she’d been a doctor. On his arm, she was his goomah. Even his bodyguards were sneaking glances at her legs. Armando would probably have liked that, bastard that he was, and basked in the envy of other men.

 

 

Ray felt like a complete shit.

 

 

“Oh, God,” he said, and stared at the king-sized four poster bed. _It’s got steps, for God’s sake. Who needs steps to get into a bed? What’s wrong with these people?_  He looked up at the ceiling. A _mirror?_ A fucking mirror, just what he needed. “I’m so sorry, Sarah–”

 

 

“It’s okay,” she said. “At least now we’ve got an excuse to be seen together, swap phone calls. You get in trouble, call me.”

 

 

“You too.”

 

 

“I’ll try not to get in trouble.” She sounded amused for a moment. “I told you, I’ve got your back.”

 

 

He lay back, exhausted. She was sitting on a heart shaped armchair, looking very professional. She’d obviously dressed for Armando; he wondered who chose her wardrobe - whether it was her or the Feds.

 

 

Whoever chose her clothes, they suited her. Coral pink, button down blouse, black skirt just below the knee. Right now, with her hair in a French braid, one slim leg folded across the other, she looked like the most crystalline, unattainable woman in Vegas.

 

 

“I liked your hair yesterday,” he said. “You know, looser.”

 

 

There was a smile in her voice as she replied. “I tie it back like this so it doesn’t get in my eyes when I’m examining patients. I prefer it loose as well. Or short.”

 

 

“Oh, don’t cut it...” He put his good arm across his head, hiding his eyes completely. “Sorry, I need to sleep...”

 

 

“Let me look at that dressing first...”

 

 

“Do you have to?”

 

 

“Won’t take long.”

 

 

He didn’t bother to sit up, just held his hand out. She sat on the edge of the mattress so tentatively that it barely rocked. When she peeled the dressing off his hand, the skin was tender, but he already knew it had healed over.

 

 

“Sorry about the scarring,” she murmured, stroking cream into it with her thumb. “Keep using this moisturiser on it, just for a while to stop it drying out and splitting again.”

 

 

“Not the stinky stuff?” he asked, his eyes open now, watching the circling of her thumb in the hollow of his hand.

 

 

“Not the stinky stuff,” she was saying. “Just hand cream.”

 

 

She had quite a blunt thumb, for such an elegant woman. Square fingernail, clipped short; chunky knuckles. He’d noticed the Mafia women had impractical hairdos, ridiculous fingernails. He liked the fact that Sarah was beautiful without trying, that she had a doctor’s hands - easy to keep clean. Firm and dependable. He wished he could kiss them...

 

 

“This is gonna look good.” _Keep it light, Vecchio, keep it jokey._ “The Bookman – bad-ass criminal mastermind – moisturises.”

 

 

She laughed, and the bed rocked. He realised, to his surprise, that she’d moved quite close to him. Or maybe he had moved to her. He could feel her thigh against his, through her skirt, through the leg of his pants. He turned his head, and looked up at her profile. Her face was flushed, and she was gazing at his palm as though it fascinated her. She should have let go of it, he suddenly realised. She’d been gently massaging it for longer than necessary. She was...

 

 

Was she just using this as an excuse to hold his hand?

 

 

“Sarah?” He knew it wasn’t her name.

 

 

“Armando,” she whispered, even though it wasn’t his.

 

 

And then they were kissing, and - _oh God, this is so not in the FBI handbook. We are so fucking screwed._

 

 

But then her hand was moving to the buttons of his shirt, and he couldn’t breathe, didn’t even want to breathe again if only she would never ever stop -

 

 

They didn’t say anything for a long time afterward. Sarah kept her eyes closed, but she didn’t turn away, or flinch when he moved closer. He slid his leg over her thigh and settled against her, his good hand curved over the small of her back. One of her own hands curled protectively over his hip, as though she couldn’t help it. Ray watched her pretend to sleep, until he fell asleep himself.

 

 

It was the absence of her body that woke him up. He opened his eyes and found her sitting with her back to him. He watched her hands as she hooked her bra back on. His fingers itched to touch hers - she sighed, and bent over. The coral blouse slid over her shoulders, obscuring that flawless skin. From the movements, he could tell she was buttoning up.

 

 

When she started twisting her hair back into a knot, Ray said the stupidest thing he could possibly say.

 

 

“What the hell _was_ that?”

 

 

Her hands froze, just above the nape of her neck. “You tell me.” Her voice was low. “You were there.”

 

 

“I’m sorry – I just mean...” He paused, watching her stand up, bare from the waist down. His eyes followed her as she retrieved her pants and skirt.

 

 

“What do you mean?” she asked, finally clothed again.

 

 

“I mean... what the hell are we doing?”

 

 

“I don’t know.” She turned, finally, and shook her head. “God’s sake.” Her cheeks were still pink from sex, but her eyes were miserable. “Who would have thought I could be so _stupid.”_

 

 

“Oh.” Ray felt his chest constrict – _fuck that hurts –_ and he spat it out as anger. “That bad, was it?”

 

 

“That’s not it at all.” Her face was pained. “You know that. Just...” She turned away. “I’m going to call room service. We have a few hours before the cousins come for you. Let’s just pretend this never happened.”

 

 

“Oh, fuck it.” Ray scrambled out of bed, and got dressed with far less dignity than Sarah had. “It never happened, okay? You call room service. I’m going back to my nice haunted castle.”

 

 

“Armando –”

 

“That is _not_ my fucking name.”

 

 

“Please,” her voice cracked unexpectedly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I...”

 

 

There was something in her tone which froze him at the doorway. “What?”

 

 

“I just – I didn’t expect this.” He turned and looked at her. She was hugging herself, as though she was cold, and staring at her feet. “I didn’t expect _you,_ I mean. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to me. I was – unprofessional.”

 

 

“The Feds gonna give you detention?” He was trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but it didn’t seem to be working.

 

 

“I mean, as a doctor.” She chewed her lip. “You were in shock. I took advantage –”

 

“You – what?” Was that what this was about? He felt a smile creeping over his face. “You can take advantage of me any time you like.”

 

 

She looked at him shyly, then her eyes were smiling back. “You know it would be really silly to pursue this...”

 

 

“This what?” Ray reached out and stroked the curve of her cheek.

 

“This...” she stepped closer to him and put her palm on his chest. “This thing we have.”

 

 

“You mean like this?”  

 

 

He took her in his arms, and kissed her hair. She tilted her head back, returning the kiss, and he smiled against her lips.

 

 

“Yes,” she whispered into his mouth. “I mean like this.”

 

 

“You know, maybe this is a good thing,” he suggested, heart hammering with hope. “You gotta play my girlfriend after all. It’s not like we have to hide or anything.”

 

 

“You’re going to make me forget all my rules,” she said, then buried her head against his chest, laughing. “Okay,” she said. “Forget room service. I have a better idea –”

 

 

Then the damn cell phone rang. He knew who it was, even before he picked up.

_Oh God, not now._

 

 

“Hey, Cuz.”

 

 

“Hey, Jackie.”

 

 

He looked at Sarah, lovely against the window and the afternoon sun.

 

He had to go.

 

~*~

 

Jackie was taking charge. “Okay,” he said, as he buttoned up Ray’s overall. “Yesterday we all got a bit silly.”

 

 

“Yeah.” Sal was still looking bleary. “Fucking Sake. And you wonder why I don’t drink.”

 

 

Jackie’s smiled slightly, but he didn’t indulge himself in banter. This was all business. “Don’t worry about it though, I got rid of our clothes, all nicely incinerated, so there won’t be any DNA.”

 

 

“Fuck…” Ray stared at Jackie. Thirty thousand dollars’ worth of handmade suits, up in smoke. And… God Almighty. Why was he even thinking about the suits, given what they were about to do?

 

 

He was flying off on tangents. Trying not to think about what was through that door...

 

 

“Don’t worry, Cuz,” Jackie said.  “We all fucked up. Guess we got carried away. This time, we’re gonna do it right.”

 

 

“Good.” Despite his hangover, Sal gave one of his easy smiles. He finished buttoning his own overall, then started checking the gun. “Reckon you should do the honours, Mando.”

 

 

 _Oh, Mother of God, what the hell am I gonna do?_ He couldn’t see Armando anywhere, and even if he did, it wouldn’t help. If he let Armando do it, it would be no different from doing it himself.

 

 

“Okay,” Jackie grinned again as he pulled a plastic cap over Ray’s head. “You don’t got much hair, but you don’t wanna leave any lying around.” He looked at Ray’s hands. “Shame the glove don’t fit.”

 

 

Although Ray’s hand was ‘better’ it was still tender enough he hadn’t been able to get the glove on.

 

 

“Yeah, well.” Ray said, sounding completely normal, “a plastic bag does the trick just as well.” _The things you learn from forensics... God. I’m using ‘cop knowledge to facilitate a crime here._

 

“It’s not loaded,” Sal handed him the gun. “Just give it a squeeze, see if you can manage the trigger.”

 

_Oh fuck... why did the bandage have to come off today?_

 

 

Ray squeezed the trigger and winced. “Yeah,” he said. “Hurts some, but yeah.”

 

 

_Oh God, I don’t care if it makes me a coward… Armando’s gonna have to do it._

 

 

Jackie opened the door. Ray stepped through.

 

 

The Greek was on the floor, still tied to the chair. At some stage he’d pissed himself. At some stage, he’d shat. At some stage, he’d puked. The concrete beneath Ray’s feet was tacky with blood.

 

Skouloudis opened his eyes as Ray stepped in, and…

 

 

Ray remembered, again. _Oh God… the man’s fingers._

 

 

_‘Nice touch, Mando...’_

 

 

Skouloudis was moaning, and started to talk. Trying to talk.

 

 

Ray knelt beside the man. Armando wasn’t here. This was him, this was Ray, Ray Vecchio kneeling in the muck next to a murdered man. The poor bastard was dead already – and knew it. Ray knew it. The Feds, the brothers, Sarah… everyone fucking knew.

 

 

“Pleath, pleath, pleath,” the man was saying. _Teeth,_ Ray thought. _His teeth are broken, I broke his teeth._ “I’m thorry, I’m thorry, I’m thorry.”

 

 

A breath of cold stood beside him. Ray looked up. Armando, ready to step in, if required.

 

 

Ray shook his head. _‘I can do this.’_ If a man was going to die by his hand, he should take the responsibility himself. _‘I’m not a coward,’_ he thought, though he didn’t think his brother would understand.

 

 

And there, next to Armando, stood Pa. His father and brother were completely expressionless. They might as well be statues in the church. Ray was staring up at them from the bottom of a well. _De profundis clamavi ad te…_ Prayers wouldn’t help him now.

 

 

He turned from his ghosts, looked down at the man on the floor. Reached out a hand… the left hand, protected by its splint, wrapped, ridiculously, in a plastic bag. Clumsily he stroked the hair back from Skouloudis’ face, so that he could look him in the eyes.

 

 

 _Hazel,_ he thought, _almost Frannie’s colour. Dark brown flecks in the gold, like freckles._ He looked long and hard.

 

 

“Athanasios Skouloudis,” he said. Please God he would always remember this man’s eyes, this man’s name. He rested his hand  on his victim’s face. “Thanos.” The man was moaning. Ray stroked his cheek. He knew so little about him… And then he knew one thing. “You had a mother,” he said, “and she loved you.” 

 

 

“You wanna kick him around some more?” Jackie’s voice, amused. “We can fuck about with him all night if you like.”

 

 

Ray lifted the gun, put it the man’s temple; angled it so it would only take one shot.

 

 

Fired.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ihonshu: sake. 
> 
> Oyabun: Equivalent to caporegime - the overboss of a Yakuza criminal gang.
> 
> ninkyō dantai: 'chivalrous organisation' - how a Yakuza clan will refer to itself. (The cops, on the other hand, call them bōryokudan - violence gangs.)
> 
> Nee-San: Big Sister. Title for a female 'Boss' of the Yakuza (typically supposed to be working for a male relative, usually a husband, but understood to be the true head of the family.)


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

Ray wandered through an empty house, pausing only long enough to swipe a bottle from the liquor cabinet. Scotch, whiskey, bourbon – he didn’t look at the label because it didn’t really matter.

 

_God, I need... I need to talk to someone._

 

There was nobody to talk to. He shut his eyes, for a moment, trying to get his bearings. Armando’s house was bugged. At least he could say something, tell someone. If he could just find the courage to say something – tell them – _Oh God, I’ve got to tell them. Confess._

_‘You can talk to me.’_

 

“Mando,” he stuttered out. “You fucker.” His brother put a chilly hand across his back and Ray turned, hid his head on the ghost’s shoulder. He didn’t care what it looked like… there wasn’t anyone to see. “Why,” he said, stepping back from his brother’s embrace, “Why the hell are you never there when I fucking need you?”

 

_‘You don’t want the servants seeing this.’_

 

“We gotta go somewhere,” Ray agreed. Did Mando know his house was bugged?

 

“Somewhere safe, somewhere…” Somewhere where nobody could find him, and only the Feds, and his brother, would hear. There had to be somewhere safe in this damned house.

 

His brother’s only reply was a nod. Armando and Ray walked together past Chiara’s pink door. Ray already knew he couldn’t go there. Past the guest room, the master bedroom, to the least haunted room in the house.

 

Joey’s bedroom.  Ray shoved the chest of drawers against the door so nobody could come in and disturb him. Sat on Joey’s bed. Armando sat beside him. For a crazy second, Ray felt like starting it formally: ‘Bless me father, for I have sinned. It’s been just over a week since my last confession.’ He started laughing and opened the bottle.

 

“You’re supposed to feel something when you murder someone, ain’t you?” He looked at his brother. _“Ain’t you?”_

 

_Armando shrugged. ‘Sometimes. If you loved them it still hurts. But it gets easier.’_

 

_God, don’t let it get easy._

 

“I don’t know what time it is,” Ray spoke just above a whisper to the listening Feds. “You guys are doing something to my watch, so...” _Shit. What am I doing this for anyway?_ He felt like a kid again, staring up at the ceiling and praying to a God Who didn’t hear. It wasn’t like anyone was going to absolve him – Mando certainly couldn’t, and Johnny had already told him the Feds didn’t care. “I don’t know what time he died.” That was interesting. He couldn’t say the man’s name. He cleared his throat and tried again. “The Greek. I don’t know when the Greek died.”

 

Ray kicked his shoes off and pushed himself up on Joey’s bed, propped his back against the headboard. He took a swig of whatever he’d grabbed on the way in, and bit the inside of his cheeks as his nose and eyes watered _. Bourbon. Perfect. Pa wouldn’t have drunk this shit if it didn’t help you feel something._ He knew that now. Worse than scared, was feeling nothing.

 

“They chopped him up,” he said, “at the meat packing plant.”

 

Armando leant toward him, his eyes avid. Bastard wanted to hear this: bastard _needed_ to hear this; Ray needed to tell it.

_God. I wonder is Johnny listening in on this?_ Ray knew that sometimes Johnny was at a listening post – he said as much, last Sunday. _Last Sunday._ It felt like years.

_‘You scared us half to death. You should have seen the tech guys listening in.’_ Yeah, Johnny was listening. That made it easier. He wasn’t just bragging to Armando, he was confessing to the police. Confessing to Johnny.

 

“They got an old machine down in the basement,” he told his friend. “To chop…”

 

He drifted off and looked again at the ceiling. Model airplanes, swooping. A Spitfire attacking a Messerschmidt, the bad guy trapped in the moment of descent just before the crash.

_‘To chop,’_ Mando prompted him. _‘What then?’_

 

“What do you think, you sick bastard? _”_ Shit. He’d raised his voice. He dropped it again. “After they chopped him, they put the hands through the mincer, so there won’t be any fingerprints. They’ll have dumped ‘em somewhere – I don’t know where.” He hadn’t looked. A long way off, he heard himself laugh. “Wouldn't recommend eating hamburger at one of our restaurants though.”

 

Above him model planets spun in silent rotation around a papier-mâché sun. Lazily, Ray tracked the movement of the spheres and drank from the bottle. Armando sat perched against the bottom of the bed, back to one of the posts, arms folded, foot tapping, waiting for the rest of the story.

 

“Keep your hair on,” Ray sniped at his brother, laughed again _. Bald bastard. Just like me._ “I’m getting there.”

 

He returned to his report/confession. “I wasn’t much help cleaning up, because of my hands, but I hosed the place while they scrubbed it.” He laughed again. “Now we all smell like bleach. You ever meet a Mafia boss who smells like bleach, you know what we been doing.”

_That’s a pretty good mobile for a six year old. He musta got some help. Maybe Armando or Lexie –  More likely one of the maids. That Polish one, perhaps, who kept crying at the wake._

 

“We took the pieces to the desert.” For some reason his voice cracked. Armando was leaning forward over his knees now, face alive with interest, like little Tony listening to a ghost story. Ray coughed to clear his throat, drank again. “Jackie went one way in a brown Chevy sedan. Me and Sal went the other in a pickup. Ford, I think.” _Like it matters; the vehicles are long gone._  “Just as well I can’t drive yet. I’d a got lost, not that Sal knows it.”

 

_‘I’d have shown you where to go.’_

 

“Yeah, thanks for that, Mando. Real useful to know. I’ll bear it in mind.”

 

The ghost nodded, and smiled, like he’d just offered to mow Ma’s lawn.

 

Ray’s mind went blank as he stared at the shadows on the wall. The strings that held Joey’s planes in place were almost invisible, but their shadows criss-crossed the ceiling and wall, creating an intricate, charcoal mesh. The fighter planes loomed huge against the pale blue wall paper, looking as though they had been caught in the web of a giant spider. Ray closed his eyes.   _What am I doing here? Oh, yeah. The Feds are out there, listening. That’s it. I’m meant to be giving my report._ He opened his eyes, saw his brother. _That too. Confessing. I’m confessing._

 

“We threw the head and his arms in a mineshaft,” he continued. Mando nodded with satisfaction. “There aren’t any hands.” He stopped. “Oh. Yeah. I already told you that.” He took another swig from the bottle. “Sorry. And then his legs down a cave.”

 

He shut his eyes so he didn’t have to see his brother pleasure at the description, and let his head drop back.

 

“I didn’t know there were bats in the desert, Johnny.” He was feeling – not something, but at least different. For some reason, in his head it wasn’t Johnny at the listening station, it was Benny. Benny’s face registering the shock Ray couldn’t feel, Armando couldn’t feel. “They came swarming out when we threw in the head. Dunno if that helps. Maybe you know where the bats live.”

 

He put the bottle on the nightstand, fished around in his pocket for his pills.“Sorry I don’t know more.” He had to go to sleep. Go to sleep, and not dream, and not have Armando sitting on the bed smiling like that.

 

 _‘You realise,’_ his brother said, _‘nothing you said is going to stick? You’re one of us now._ Armando smiled, gloating. _The Feds know that. They’ll use you, you'll use them. But you'll never be a cop again.’_

 

_That’s why Armando’s not angry with me for telling the Feds - he reckons I’m gonna take over from him, play the game._

 

_Oh God._

 

When Ray opened his eyes, his brother had gone.

 

“Oh, yeah. Nearly forgot,” he told the Feds. _Still a cop, still a cop..._. “They, uhm – they took his clothes off before they chopped him. They went in the incinerator at the plant. You know – where they burn the bones. And, uhm... yeah. About the cars. The ones we drove to the desert in - they got a couple _soldati_ to take ‘em to the salvage crush.”

 

 _That’s it,_ he thought. _That’s everything – I told them everything I know._

 

Except who the murderer was.

~*~

 

_Sarah was sitting on the edge of the hotel bed with her back to him, getting dressed. This time instead of standing up and walking away, she turned to him, leant over and stroked his face._

_“Answer the phone, Ray,” she said. “I’m trying to call you.”_

_“How do you know my name?”_

_“You’re dreaming.”_

_“Stay.” He caught her hand and kissed it. “I don’t want to wake up.”_

_“Answer the phone, I’m trying to call you.”_

 

The phone was ringing. He groaned, and reached out through the edges of his dream. Something fell with a clunk. _Oh God._ The smell of bourbon. He'd knocked over the damn bottle. _Hope I didn't make a mess,_ he thought, too out of it to register shame.

 

The phone stopped ringing, started again. _Damn cell phone…_ he rolled, clumsily, nearly fell off the couch, scooped it up.

 

Shit. He’d missed the call. He lay back down, put the phone on his chest, waited for it to ring again. _I’m wasted,_ he thought, surprised by the observation. He wasn’t quite sure how that had happened. Couldn’t remember leaving Joey’s room, getting to this couch. Most importantly, he couldn’t figure out how to use his fucking fingers and call her back –

 

_But that was okay, because she was there, lying on the hotel bed next to him, still dressed._

_“Sorry I missed you,” he managed._

_“I’m here now,” she said. “Not going anywhere.”_

_“That’s alright then.” There was something he should warn her about – warn her not to be with him... “You know I’m a bad man, don’t you? You know I did a very bad thing?”_

_“Yes,” she said. “They told me. That’s why I’m calling you, so you can tell your security to let me in. I’m coming to look after you.”_

_He curled into her warmth. He was dreaming, so he didn’t have to think about the very bad thing._

_“You came anyway,” he whispered. “Thank you.”_

_She stroked his head, bald patch and all, and made him laugh. She kissed his forehead and his nose._

_“You shouldn’t take your pills like that,” she reproached him._

 

_“Yeah, but I got a good dream out of it.” He put his arms around her. Her blouse was silk, and slid as smooth as water against her skin. “You know my name. What’s yours?”_

_“I’m a dream. I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”_

_“What do I know?”_

 

The phone was ringing again.

_“Anya,” she whispered. “My name’s Anya.”_

 

 _He curled into her warmth._ The phone was ringing, and he ignored it.   _Oh God. She was fading from his arms._

 

 _“Answer the phone,”_ she whispered against his lips, just as he opened his eyes.

 

“Oh shit.” He sat up with a thumping headache. At some point last night he had made his way into the rec room. And the phone really was ringing. How many calls had he missed?

 

He flipped the thing open...   _Please be Anya._

 

Ray’s heart sank as the name of the caller came up. Pender? Maybe something had happened. Why the fuck would Pender be phoning him now? Hadn’t they sorted out that police business? God’s sake – he hoped the brothers hadn’t been trying to get hold of him as well.

 

“Okay, okay.” He snarled into the phone. “What?” Fuck, he was in a bad mood today.

 

“Armando.” Pender’s cool precise voice, with its faintest hint of an Irish accent irritated the hell out of Ray. That man couldn’t say one word without it sounding superior and smug. “I take it you haven’t heard yet?”

 

“Heard what?”

 

“Ah. I see. Well, I suggest you turn on channel 13.” The man coughed delicately. _Fuck’s sake, even his coughing sounds smug._

 

“Why?”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

Ray grabbed the remote control from down the side of the couch and changed channels. Apparently last night in his drunkeness, he’d thought the cooking channel with the sound turned off was a good idea. He swallowed his nausea at the thought of food and turned his attention back to the phone.

 

“Is this to do with the shooting at Chiara’s walk through? I thought we had that sorted out. You know, we’re the victims yada yada.”

 

“No, Armando. I’m sorry. It’s not that.” For a moment the smugness slipped. “Just… sit down and watch the news. Jackie’s on his way.”

_Great. Fucking Jackie. Maybe I should mess with the Feds' plans and just pop the bastard when he walks in the door._ Ray slumped back into the couch and sprawled in front of the television, still feeling sick _. Fuck, this is why Pa drank. The hangover distracts you as much as being drunk does._

 

On screen the reporter was standing in a parking lot, giving the camera a look of neutral concern.

_“… early this morning, dead at the scene. Sources close to the police suggest that she was an employee of the …”_

 

“Armando?” Pender’s voice was tinny in the distance. “Are you hearing this?”

 

“That’s Sarah’s car,” Ray said. That meant something, he knew it meant something but... the significance didn’t register. “Why’s that damn reporter standing in front of Sarah’s car?”

 

The reporter stood back _. “Something appears to be happening…”_

 

A tired looking cop, stepping through _. God, I know this guy... Gang Crime Unit._

_“Detective Burns, could you give us any information as to the identity of the victim?”_

_“Nothing yet. We’ll let you know as soon as it’s confirmed…”_

_“So, you have some idea?”_

 

The policeman kept moving, the reporter kept following him, and the cameraman panned across to keep track of them.

_“We’ll know more at the press conference,”_ the policeman was saying, and then Ray was standing, staring at the screen. The cameraman had changed angle and was zooming in on a...

 

They’d laid the body out on the ground, covered in a white sheet, but one hand poked out from under it.

 

“Armando,” Pender asked, “is there anything you recognise? We don’t know for certain yet if it’s –”

_Ray blanked on the name. It can’t be, that’s not her name. She told me her name. She’s called..._ He couldn’t remember. _But that name – no. This  is all wrong. It ain’t her –_

 

The reporter was still talking, out of shot now, as the camera lens closed in on the bare arm.

 

“It’s not her,” Ray whispered, looking at the screen. “It can’t be her.”

 

“It _is_ her car,” Pender pointed out. “If it does turn out to link to you, I’ll stonewall the police for as long as I can, and you and your cousins carry on as though business was usual. They’ll probably have to wait till Monday to get a sympathetic judge for the warrant. So, don’t talk to me, till I talk to you.”

 

 _It could be staged,_ Ray thought, as the camera continued to zoom in. _The car is a prop. When I see Johnny, he’ll explain it – they staged it somehow, to get her out. Because they knew she was too close to me, they wanted to get her out of harm’s way –_

 

“Armando?” Pender’s tones were clipped with irritation. “Are you listening to me?”

 

The camera focussed tightly on her wrist and hand. _Oh… oh fuck._

  

Her thumb. Her blunt knuckled thumb, with its short clean nail.

 

Ray closed his eyes.

 

_Oh God._

 

“That’s her,” he said. “That’s her.”

_~*~_

 

It wasn’t the first time the Iguanas had used Armando’s place for a Council of War, but it was the first time the Feds were ever going to be able to hear it. The brothers had built into the natural landscape in such a way that covert surveillance was a near impossibility, unless you could physically get _into_ the building – and no judge would grant them leave to do that. The brothers, after all, had a right to privacy.

 

Not until ‘Armando’ officially became a double agent was that permission given, and now the Feds would hear everything.  

  
  
“Pender’s privileged,” Jackie pointed out. “We shoulda gone to him.”

  
  
“So what? Nobody can hear us here. Besides, Pender says it himself. If we go to a defence lawyer now, makes Mando look guilty.”

 

“Yeah, but this time he’s not.”

 

“Look,” Sal sounded frustrated. “The fucking cops are bound to call him in for questioning, but we don’t wanna give ‘em an excuse. Right now we still got some time, and we’re all each other’s alibi, so we’re good.”

  
  
“Yeah yeah. We were hanging with Armando – better say we were at his.”

 

“So. Pender can fuck himself till we need him. Right now, we gotta think. Mando?”

 

Ray had been following the conversation with half an ear, wondering who was listening to them. “Yeah?”

  
  
“You certain it was her?”

  
  
“Yeah,” Ray said. “Recognised her hand.”

  
  
“Oh, yeah?” Jackie leered. “Did she, you know...” he made a suggestive gesture with his fist. Casually, Ray stepped up to him and thumped him in the face. Jackie’s smirk twisted into a snarl, and he lunged toward him. Sal slammed his big body between them, like a wall.

  
  
“Stop that,” he yelled, “both of you. Fucking hell, do I have to send you to your rooms?” He turned his head from one to the other, glaring, as he shoved them apart. “Sit the fuck down.”

  
  
Jackie flung himself on a nearby armchair, rubbing his chin. Every line of his body radiated fury; it was impossible to tell who he was angrier with – his brother or Ray.

  
  
Ray stepped up to the piano and started to lean against it before he remembered he had been commanded to sit. He perched on the stool. Absently, he rubbed his hand, surprised by what he’d done _. You’d almost have thought I was angry..._ He checked his palm. The central palmar crease hadn’t broken all the way open... it was just oozing a little blood. _What am I angry about?_

 

 _Sarah,_ he thought _. Someone killed Sarah._

  

He should be angry.

  
  
 _Why don’t I feel it?_

  
  
Sal folded his arms across his chest, and looked from Jackie to Ray. For a moment Ray wondered why that was familiar – then he realised Sal looked like a boxing ref, checking the combatants in opposite corner _s. That’s why he’s caporegime,_ Ray realised, appreciating it for the first tim _e. He’s calm as ice in a crisis._

  
  
For a long while there was silence, except for Jackie’s huffing breath calming down, and that damn grandfather clock, ticking off time.

  
  
Finally Sal spoke. “Look at you two.” _You’d never guess he chopped a guy up last night. Sounds like a school teacher_. “God’s sake. Fighting each other.” The man shook his head, exasperated. “You’re like kids, or... like a fucking time bomb. What’s wrong with you guys? Once a year, bang. Got it out of your systems yet?”

  
  
“Yeah,” Jackie grumbled like a ten year old. “But he’s a prick.”

  
  
“You’re the prick. You don’t make a joke like that. Not about a nice girl.”

  
  
Jackie snorted, as though he had something to say about that – then thought better of it.

  
  
“And you, Armando.” It wasn’t often Sal addressed him by anything other than his nickname. “You know better. So, you’re angry. We all are. Take it out on our enemies, not each other.”

  
  
“Yeah,” Ray grinned without mirth. “I plan to.”  _And the Feds had better stop me._

  
  
“Good,” Sal continued. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Cause what we need to do is find out whoever killed your Sarah. And then we string ‘em up by the dick, and use ‘em as a piñata.”

  
  
In his own way Sal was clever as Jackie. Ray started laughing. For all he knew, that was exactly what these crazy fucks were gonna do.

 

By the time everyone had calmed down – Jackie’s chuckles lasted the longest – the air had cleared.

 

“So,” Jackie said, shifting on the armchair. “We all know who’s behind this, don’t we?”

 

“Yeah,” Sal said. “We do. We sent a message to Onofri, and he’s just sent one back.”

  
  
“Do we know that, though?” Ray looked at the brothers quizzically. “I know we sent a message to Onofri, but would he have got it? I mean, we need to be clear on the time frame. Between when he would have known, and when she was killed.”

  
  
“You still think someone else might be involved, Mando?”

  
  
Ray shrugged. “We can’t overlook the possibility.”

  
  
“There’s no-one else,” Jackie stated, with authority. “Our boys have been all over town, knocking heads together. There’s not a whisper it was anyone, except him and the Greek. Besides, he’d have got the message within half an hour.” Jackie grinned, and flipped the bird. “I sent him a finger.”

  
  
“Oh.”

  
  
“So,” Sal mused. “Onofri then. We gotta bring this thing to an end. We don’t kill him, he’ll kill us.”

  
  
“Nah,” Ray smiled. “I got a much better idea.”

  
  
“Oh yeah?” Despite his improved mood, Jackie sounded doubtful.

  
  
“Yeah. An oldie but a goodie.”

  
  
“Something we’ve done before?” Sal tilted his head toward Ray, attentive. “No point breaking with tradition.”

  
  
“We’ve sort of done it before. We’ve set different families against each other. I reckon...” Ray gazed off into space. “‘A house divided against itself cannot stand.’”

  
  
“What,” Jackie guffawed. “More ‘Art of War’ shit?”

  
  
“Jesus. He had some good lines too.” Ray flashed on a picture of Ma’s appalled reaction to his blasphemy - it would have bothered him yesterday. But it was true. It was a good idea, even if he was taking it out of context.

  

“We set the Onofri’s against each other,” he explained. “Get them to kill the old bastard for us. They’ll offer him as an apology, to show they weren’t in on it, even though they fucking were.”  He paused to collect himself. Part of him wanted to take out the whole damn lot of them, but he was counting on the Feds to hear his plan, and come up with a counterplan. _Calm down, Vecchio. You’re a murderer, but not a mobster yet._

 

He blew out a breath. The Feds would stop this. And then they’d see what a really crazy dangerous fucker he was, and take him out of it, bring him home, while there was still some of him left.

 

“Once Pietro’s gone, there will be a vacuum up top. Pietro’s son isn’t top boss material. It’s only him and his old man don’t know it.” Ray smiled. “By the time we’ve finished with them, the whole family will be killing each other, not us.”

  
  
“We don’t have fucking time for that. So, yeah, you can set ‘em at each other’s throats, and maybe they’ll end up killing every mother’s son, but it’s no good to us when we’re already dead.”

 

“Jackie’s got a point.”

 

“Yeah.” Ray nodded. “A very good one. So – we need to confuse ‘em.”

  
  
Jackie opened his mouth to object, but Sal cut him off with a slicing gesture of his hand. “I know that face. He’s got a plan. Go on, Mando. What you got in mind?”

 

"We," Ray smirked, "are gonna sue for peace."

  
  
Jackie frowned. "Like in a courtroom?"

 

"No, he means like a peace treaty." Sal cocked an eyebrow in Ray's direction. "Right?"

  
  
"Right," Ray affirmed. "We're gonna go to them, convince them we want to put an end to this war. And - " he paused, making eye contact with both of his cousins before continuing, "they'll believe us."

  
 _~*~_

 

 

“Look at the stupid old bastard,” Jackie sneered, as they caught their first glimpse of Onofri and his contingent. “Where are his fucking bodyguards?”

 

“Probably just good enough we can't see 'em,” Sal said. “Even if they weren't here, he'd feel safe enough,” he added. “He owns the fucking place after all.”

 

Ray smiled, but said nothing. All he knew about golf was to aim at the clown’s mouth, and try not to get your ball whacked by the windmill. It seemed unreal, for a moment, that he was standing here at all. The place was fucking beautiful. Nothing like the rocks and rubble and bones he knew it was built on.

 

Onofri was at the seventh hole, with his son, two of his nephews, and an associate from the Mexicans. They seemed relaxed under the warm sun, dressed casually.

 

Despite the heat, Ray and the brothers had dressed in full Armani. They were going into battle, after all.

 

Ray waited while Sal’s most trusted _caporegimes_ and _soldati_ started piling out of their golf carts. He looked at the suited and booted men, with their guns casually on display, and felt a slow sense of the ridiculous, the horrific, warming his chest _. How the fuck is this my life? Pa must be so proud_. Ray found himself stifling laughter as they started down the smooth slope and came in sight of Onofri and his crew.

 

Apparently the sight of ‘The Bookman’ coming over the horizon with a shit-eating grin on his face was enough to put the old man off his game. Or maybe it was the fact that he and his companions were outnumbered. Then again, Ray thought, maybe he’s just a terrible golfer. Whatever the cause, Onofri’s swing went wild, and the golf ball sailed off into the rough.

 

“Ouch,” Sal said, with mock commiseration. “That’s gotta hurt.”

 

Onofri turned with a tight grin. “Sammy, my dear boy. Jackie…” Then he allowed his face to turn solemn. “Armando… I’m so sorry about your wife.”

 

“Yeah? Well, I’m sorry about your wife too, but there’s always plastic surgery.”

 

The old man’s face went stiff, and Ray kept on grinning, even when Onofri’s son stepped forward, bunching his fists. From what Ray had read in the files, Fredo Onofri wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer – although, now Ray thought of it, he had guts. Not many people would put their fists up when they were outnumbered more than two to one by the Iguana crew, even if their mothers had been insulted. Although, from the corner of his eyes Ray could see Onofri’s security hurrying from the trees – the old man wasn’t going to be outnumbered for long.

 

 _First part of the plan, right on the nos_ e, Ray though _t. They expect the Bookman to be a loose canon – and yeah, they’re falling for it. Please God, I hope the Feds are watching this..._

 

“Fredo, it’s alright.” Onofri put his hand out and stopped his son from stepping into a confrontation. He looked at Ray with unadulterated contempt. “The poor man’s grieving.” His voice belied his sympathetic words; dangerous and cold. “He’s not thinking straight.”

  

“Ah,” Ray said, letting his mouth twist into a cruel smile. “That’s where you’re wrong, Pietro. See…” He paused, and flicked his wrists to shoot his cuffs out. “This time last month, I was a man with a family to protect.” He flung his arms wide, taking in the broad horizon, to show just how much he’d had. “I had kids to raise, a wife to look after.” He pivoted three hundred and sixty degrees. _See,_ his gesture said as he faced Onofri again, his coat flapping against his thighs _. I had the world._

 

“Today?” Ray let his arms drop, and his face go blank. “Today there’s just me.” He pushed his head forward slightly, staring into Onofri’s eyes. “I don’t have to play nice anymore,” he said, his voice dropping. “I don’t have to worry about keeping my wife and kids safe.” His lip and cheek twitched with contempt. “In fact, I don’t have to worry about anything at all.”

 

“Armando.” The old man handed his golf club to one of the cousins, and made a slight gesture of conciliation – two hands raised, as though lifting an imaginary gift. His face, however, remained clenched. “I don’t know who’s been telling you lies, but I’ve always liked you. I came yesterday to offer my condolences. And I’m hurt –” for a moment he almost looked it. “Hurt and offended. I heard your security guards searched the flowers for bombs and –”

“Don’t talk shit.” Ray sneered, closing the gap between him and Onofri. “You came yesterday to see if you had me beat. And you had Sarah whacked just to make double sure. Well, guess what, old man? I’ve had the whole damn world thrown at me, and I’m still not beat.”

 

Onofri’s gaze flickered between Ray and the Iguana brothers, darting from man to man. For a moment Ray’s memory tried to place them on some family tree... were they second, third cousins or something? Onofri had been capo bastone for the Iguana Family, before the schisms of the first big war - for an instant there Onfori’s gaze reminded Ray of someone – snake-blooded and cold.

 

“Come now,” the old man said, “Let’s be reasonable. All of you. Salvatore, you know me.” And Giacomo, Armando… You know how close I was to your fathers. You boys are my family…”

 

_None of that Sammy shit then... we got him nervous._

 

“Yeah?” Ray glanced at Fredo. “You hear that? Hear how your old man treats family?” He allowed his smile to fade, his face to go cold. “Nice father you have there. You ever hear of King Herod?”

 

Fredo looked flummoxed. “What does King Herod have to do with anything?”

 

Fredo might be dumb, but he’d heard of King Herod. Ray bet he didn’t know this story. He kept going, recounting one of the more gruesome history lessons he’d heard at Sunday school.  “Course you know. He’s the guy who killed all the babies… remember? ‘Slaughter of the Innocents.’ Real bad guy.”

 

“My father didn’t kill anyone –”

 

Ray started laughing. “Sure he did. Isn’t he the guy who started you off?”

 

“I mean… he didn’t kill your family.”

 

“You sure of that?”

 

“My father’s no traitor.” Fredo was flushed and angry, visibly struggling to hold his temper. The Mexican and Onofri cousins had stepped back, abandoning father and son, but Onofri’s, security had arrived, waiting for orders. _Two armies on a battlefield,_ Ray thought _– one guy goes crazy here, it’s gonna be a fucking bloodbath._

 

“Yeah… I’d like to think so too,” Ray said. “I’d like to think your father kept his honour. But see… I’d keep an eye on your Pa if I was you. Old man Herod didn’t stick to killing other people’s babies. He was jealous of his sons too, you know. Scared of ‘em.” He smiled, watching for Fredo’s reaction. “One of ‘em might oust him from the throne, Herod thought. Well, you know old men. They get frightened. Death comes creeping up, they know it’s them next.”

 

“Hey,” Fredo flushed. “Are you threatening my father?” In his peripheral vision, Ray noticed Onofri’s bodyguards’ shifting their stance, hands resting on their guns.

 

“Mando,” Sal spoke for the first time, and put a hand on Ray’s shoulder. _Phase Two,_ Ray thought, as he ostentatiously shook it off. _Remind ‘em the Bookman  might be crazy, but they can trust Sal to control him_. “You need to calm down.”

 

“I’m calm,” Ray said, in glacial tones. Sal assessed him gravely, playing his role to perfection.

 

“You sure of that?”

 

Onofri was watching the interplay between the two, with sharp eyes. Ray jerked his head, as though defensive, and glared at Sal.

 

“Yeah, I’m calm. Just sharing a history lesson. See…” Ray placed his good hand affectionately on Fredo’s shoulder, and leaned in toward his ear. “Old man Herod didn’t just slaughter the Innocents, you know. He had his sons executed. Had ‘em crucified.”

 

“Mando,” Sal ‘warned’ him with a growl.

 

Ray stared at Fredo waiting for his words to settle in. The man’s eyes widened in shocked comprehension – his elder brother had vanished recently, and nobody had claimed his murder. Ray dropped his voice further, and whispered _s_ o close he was almost touching Fredo’s skin: “How’s that for an old man?”

 

“Mando,” Sal shouted. “Step back.”

 

Ray stepped back, flushing at the insult of being commanded, even though they had planned this. “Yes, Boss,” he said, in bitter tones. It was surprisingly easy to be bitter. _So, I do feel something. Good._

 

Onofri senior was standing stiff as a statue, white as chalk. It was impossible to tell which emotion was uppermost, fury at the accusation, or fear that his son might believe it. Onofri wasn’t afraid of many things, but losing the faith of his surviving, and favourite son would be high on the list.

 

It didn’t matter. Whatever he was feeling, Onofri was being pushed closer to the edge of doing something stupid… and the first person to do something stupid was always the one who lost.

 

“What’s wrong, Onofri?” Ray said, as if he couldn’t stop himself.

 

“Armando…” The old man’s voice shook, probably with anger, then he spoke again, more clearly. “Armando. I really have no ill intentions toward you, or your family, or your business interests. I never wished any of you any harm.”

 

“You took advantage of the harm though, didn’t you? When you thought I was dead, you stopped paying your tribute.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Onofri said, his voice clipped. This was not a man who apologised easily. “It was a hard time for everyone… we would have renegotiated –”

 

“There was nothing to renegotiate. Tribute is tribute. Tax is tax. You pay, that’s all.”

 

“I thought,” Onofri ground out, “that your brothers had enough on their plate –”

 

 _Brothers. That’s interesting._ It seemed everyone knew how close Armando was to his cousins.

 

“If you hurt one of us,” Ray stated, “you hurt us all. You don’t pay my brothers, you’re stealing from me. You kill my children…” His voice stopped working. It hit him again. This man really had killed his brother, his niece. As far as Vegas was concerned, he’d killed his wife and son. And last night this wizened old bastard killed Sarah.

 

 _To hell with the plan,_ Ray thought.His hand moved toward his holster. He was gonna shoot the son of a whore. He glanced to the corner, saw Sal’s eyes widen, dart a furious and urgent _‘no.’_

 

 _Fuck,_ Ray realised as the twin cordons of Iguana security and Onofri security tightened around him _. I’m gonna get us all killed. Suicide by Mafia._ He almost laughed. _Stick to the plan._

 

Ray stepped forward again, so far into Onofri’s space that they were practically chest to chest. Onofri edged back, and Ray followed him. “You kill my family,” he hissed, “what the hell do you think I’m gonna do to yours?”

 

He turned his eyes to Fredo, and took a step to the side so he faced him, then a step forward, feeling like a ballroom dancer. Fredo stepped back, and bumped into one of Sal’s bodyguards, tripping over his feet. Ray smiled, even as one of Onofri’s guards yanked him backward. Fredo swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Ray shook himself free of the guard and tugged his lapels, straightened his coat.

 

And then... _then:_ Onofri darted a protective hand on Fredo’s arm. The old man squeezed his way in front of his son as a shield between him and Ray. _Well, look at that, the bastard actually loves him._

 

That was the mistake. Onofri’s one weakness: he loved his son; he trusted his son – but his son did not trust him. The FBI transcripts made that clear. Fredo hadn’t trusted his father since his brother disappeared. He certainly didn’t trust him now. _Not with that story about Herod eating its way into his head like a worm in an apple._

 

Onofri sucked in his lips, looked at the men knotted around them, then looked back at Ray. “I swear to God,” he lied. “It wasn’t me.”

 

 _Oh, we can use that,_ Ray gloated, forgetting that he wanted the FBI to stop him. _We can so use that. We have him._ Ray turned his head to the side, so the old man wouldn’t see him smile, triumphantly, at his brothers.

 

 _We get the son to betray the father,_ Ray thought, _and the old man will walk straight into the trap._

 

“Armando,” Sal spoke again, still acting his role as the reasonable one, the one in charge of the crazy man. “Did I not just tell you to stand down?”

 

“Yes.” Ray allowed his lip to curl with anger, still glaring at the old man, but stepped back. Security parted on either side of him, letting him pass. Everyone’s body language relaxed, just a notch.

 

“Pietro,” Sal stepped forward, laying a placating hand on Onofri’s shoulder. “Let me talk to Armando.” He jerked his head at Jackie, who put a hand between Ray’s shoulder blades, prepared to grab him, if necessary. “Mando, Jackie. Come.”

 

“Right.” Ray bit off the word as though he resented it, and turned to follow his _caporegime._ The Onofris might expect him to be insolent, to be angry – but they would expect obedience. Jackie shoved him, a little bit harder than he needed to, to quicken the pace, and show that he was a step above the Bookman in the hierarchy. Ray found he resented that, but kept walking. Sal strode off out of the hearing range of the Onofris and their crew, stopped and turned, his body language carefully radiating anger and disapproval. His mouth was a narrow angry line. His eyes, on the other hand were crinkled at the corners in a smile.

 

“Fuck, you’re good, Mando, I thought you were gonna kill him for a minute. _”_

 

“Don’t be an idiot, Sal,” Jackie spoke up at last. “He was gonna kill him.”

 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t.” Ray compressed his lips. Now that he thought of it, he wasn’t quite sure how he’d stopped himself. “He’s scared for Fredo,” he added. “See the way Pietro looked when he thought I’d threatened his son?”

 

“You did threaten his son,” Jackie pointed out, with something like reluctant respect. “You scared the blue fucking shit out of his son.”

 

“Yeah.” Ray glanced over his shoulder at the old man, standing next to Fredo, surrounded by armed thugs. “See, that’s the difference between the Onofris and us,” he said. “Look at his nephews, standing over there with the Mexican. We’d never walk off and leave our _capo_ alone.”

 

“His son stands by him, though.” Sal sounded concerned. “Not sure this is gonna work...”

 

“It’s gonna work. Ray smiled again, enjoying the feeling of cruelty. “The son knows his father. You see the look in Fredo’s eyes when I told him about King Herod? He’s seen his father kill innocents, and he knows Pietro’s a vicious, jealous old man.”

 

“That was a stroke of fucking genius though, making Fredo think his Pa got PJ whacked.”

 

 _That’s what fathers do, ain’t it? Betray their sons._ “Who knows? I reckon he did.”

 

“Focus,” Jackie said. Ray flashed back to his unfortunate – but thankfully brief – foray into college football, standing in a huddle with his teammates, listening to the quarterback call the next play. Unexpectedly, he grinned at the memory. Jackie gave one of his harder stares, a _‘calm down Cuz, what the fuck you smiling at’_  glare. Ray made himself look solemn, and pushed the ‘crazy’ down. _Do not start laughing. Fuck, what’s wrong with me today? Focus on the plan._

 

 _“_ So,” Sal said. “What you think, Mando? You reckon they’ll fall for it?”

 

“Yeah,” Ray said. “Reckon they already have. Here’s what they’re thinking. We know they killed my wife, kids, Sarah. But we’re still standing. He ain’t destabilised things, he’s just made us mad as all hell. So, right now they’re thinking, ‘shit, maybe we went a bit far…’” Fuck, Ray wanted to start laughing again. _‘They went a bit far...’ understatement of the damn century_. “They reckon you’re the most peaceful one, Sal, and you want to avoid more bloodshed. They know Jackie’s gonna go along with whatever you say. Me, they’re not so sure about.”

 

“They’re not stupid – they’re gonna know you wanna kill ‘em,” Jackie said. “So, hurry up and make ‘em sure you’re safe.” A flicker of doubt crossed his eyes. “Shit, I think we’ve ballsed up – they’re never gonna believe you’d let this go.”

 

“They know I love you guys, they know you trust me, they know I’ll do anything you say.” Ray heard the words, and realised how pitiful Armando’s life had been – that summed him up. The stupid fucker had been so pathetic in his need for approval, he might as well have been a slave.

 

“Yeah,” Sal said. “Remember, last war, he tried to flip you to work for him.” He laughed. “He’ll know after that you’re a man of your word. If you promise us something, you’ll stick to your promise, no matter what.”

 

 _Onofri tried to flip Armando. That we didn’t know_. For a moment Ray felt cold. He was planning murder here, and the Feds knew it. And if they let him get away with it, once he was done, he was going to carry on spying for the bastards. He shook it off. _Who gives a fuck? We’re not here to save the bad guys. Let ‘em kill each other._

  

“So,” Ray stared at Sal, and shrugged. “You reckon we’ve been ‘arguing’ long enough? Time to show Onofri my devotion to the Iguanas?”

 

“Why not?"

 

Ray gave a tiny nod, and dropped to his knees, right in the middle of the golf course. Sal held out his hand and Ray kissed it.

 

It didn’t bother him at all. It didn’t bother him when Sal patted his head in benediction. It didn’t bother him when Sal raised him to his feet, hugged him, welcomed him back to the fold with a kiss on both cheeks. He was a made man, after all.

 

Ray’s back was to the Onofris so he couldn’t see how they were taking it. “Ostentatious enough?”

 

“Yeah, Cuz,” Jackie confirmed. “They’re lapping it up.”

 

“Okay.” Ray bit his lip, as the crazy urge to giggle climbed back up his throat. It wasn’t even funny – nothing was funny anymore.

 

Ray turned with his brothers, and started walking across the green toward the Onofri contingent, with Jackie at his side, three steps behind Sal.

 

“See that?” he muttered, from the side of his mouth to Jackie. Fredo was holding himself stiffly, trying not to look at his father. “Fredo mightn’t want to believe what I implied, but he’ll fear it.” For an instant Pa flickered to his side, almost out of his field of vision. Ray turned his head away from the loathsome spectre, and kept on talking. “Let’s just leave Fredo to think about that, let it rankle. When Sal talks to him later he’ll fold like wet paper.” Jackie nodded, and Ray continued. “You just watch him. He’ll give up his old man.”

 

 “You really are a clever bastard, Armando.”

  

“Coming from you, Jackie, I’m flattered.”

 

“We’ll see just how clever in a minute,” Sal threw over his shoulder. “Here’s where we ‘sue for peace.’ They eat this up, then we’ve got ‘em.”

 

“They eat this up,” Ray said with grim satisfaction, “and Onofri’s dead.”

~*~

 

It had been fifteen years since Ray had worked on a site like this. The earth in Vegas was a different colour when you dug down. In Chicago, it started off red, almost rusty; deep down, the earth was black. Here, it was paler. Scratch beneath the surface, and the desert reappeared. The texture was different too. Dry and grainy – but the air of any building site smelled the same - a pungent aroma of brick and mortar, dirt and cement. Ray leant against the scaffolding, waiting for the Onofris to make their appearance.

 

 A nice deep hole; open earth, then layers of rubble, rocks, gravel, sand. The Irish boys hadn’t even known why they were digging it. Just another pit, for some decorative crap to go on top. Ray felt like he was standing backstage, finally, seeing the real Vegas. Like he was in one of those cheap old Western movies, where you could tell the main street of the town was just a painted board.

 

_The Feds aren’t coming._

 

“So, Cuz,” Jackie sucked on his cigarette, and sighed with satisfaction. “Nearly done. Just one more thing to get out of the way.”

 

Ray tilted his head, looked at Jacki _e. You know,_ he thought, _maybe this is all for my benefit. Maybe they’ve made me, and this whole thing is a setup. Sal’s gonna turn up, and they’re gonna kill me…_

  

“What the fuck are you looking at, Cuz? God’s sake,” Jackie shook his head, took another drag on his cigarette. “You wanna drink?”

 

Ray shrugged. Why not? The man always seemed to have a pocket flask on him. Jackie grinned, and shared it.

 

“I gotta ask,” Ray said, in absent tones, “where you got this thing from. It’s bigger on the inside or something.”

 

Jackie laughed, and sat on a stack of marble flagstones, heaped up on top of each other like an uncut deck of cards. Seemed Ray talking shit put him at his ease. “Listen,” he said, “when this is done – once the fucking cops have finished with you I mean, and it’s all died down, I’m taking you out to celebrate.”

 

“What’s to celebrate?”

 

“This. You got the bastards. Besides,” he took another swallow of his drink, passed the flask back. “You gotta fuck it outta your system. I know what it’s like. Your wife dies, or your goomah – you get screwed up about it. So. You need to get screwed to get unscrewed. Or something like that.” Jackie looked thoughtful. “I can recommend a few good girls.”

 

Ray handed back the flask, and didn’t think about it. Closed his eyes, and didn’t think about how smooth her hair was, tangled through his fingers, or how warm her belly was when he kissed its soft curve. He didn’t think.

 

“Wake up, Cuz. They’re here.”

 

Ray opened his eyes, and there they were, right on cue. The Onofris, Pa and Son, walking along next to Sal. Fredo’s eyes were downcast. Pietro was looking about him with an almost fierce interest.

 

 _Oh yeah, they fell for it._ The final stage in the plan. Onofri senior thought this place was going to be the sign of a new era of cooperation between the Iguana and Onofri families. A new casino, co-owned – a peace treaty, perhaps, or boundary stone.

 

Onofri junior knew that it was going to be his father’s tomb _._

_Poor old man,_ Ray thought,though his pity was very far away _. Betrayed by his own son._

 

“So, what do you think, Pietro?” Sal was smiling, making expansive gestures with his hands as he showed off the site. “I was thinking we should do something really different from Caesars. We got the space sorted out, dimensions and so on – but we need to work a theme. I gotta few ideas, but you know how it is. You need some fresh insight sometime _s.”_

 

Onofri nodded. “I always liked the idea,” he said, “of people coming in and feeling as though they’ve stepped into a garden. Not as though they’ve stepped into a building, but as though they’ve stepped through a door into - a different space entirely. The casinos feature water, of course, and I think we should go with that. But I’m also thinking, trees, flowers, ferns – not as ornaments, but as the actual environment. People should be able to imagine that they are outside.”

 

_Wow. That’s actually a good idea._

 

Sal was nodding, looking slightly surprised. “You know,” he agreed with Ray’s unspoken sentiment, “That’s a very good idea.”

 

“Don’t look so shocked,” Pietro said, back to his usual snide self. “I might be old, but I still have a brain in my head.”

 

“That you do, Pietro,” Sal patted his back. “That you do. What do you say, Mando?” He glanced at Ray, who straightened up from his slouch. “You think it’s a good idea?”

 

“Yeah,” Ray said, voice tight. “We can call it ‘Eden’.”

 

Onofri smiled, relieved. “That’s another good idea,” he said, and stepped forward to embrace him. “Armando –” he stopped in his tracks. Ray didn’t know when it had happened, but his gun was pointed directly between the old man’s eyes.

 

_The Fed’s aren’t coming. They’re not coming. Nobody’s coming to stop me._

 

“What is this?” Pietro wasn’t scared, he was outraged. “Sal, you said you had him under control. We can’t have this kind of thing – I know he’s your cousin, but you’re going to have to take him out.”

 

“Look, don’t worry, Pietro.” Sal put his big hand on Onofri’s shoulder. “I can explain.”

 

“Actually,” Ray interjected, “let Fredo explain.”

 

“Fredo?” the old man turned, looked at his son. “What...” his voice faltered as realisation dawned. “Fredo...”

 

“I’m sorry, Pa,” his son said. “But you killed PJ.”

 

“I didn’t – Son. I don’t know what happened to him –”

 

“You argued,” Fredo said, and his voice quavered. “You argued all the time. You argued the night he disappeared –”

 

“I don’t know what the hell happened!” Uncharacteristically the man shouted. “Maybe the fucker went into Witness Protection. So, I didn’t trust him, but I always knew – I knew I could trust you –”

 

“You broke the _codice d’onori._ You started a war, without reason –”

 

“Fredo,” the old man’s hands clenched  and unclenched. _“Come si può credere alle bugie questi bastardi dicono?”_

 

Fredo shook and stepped up close to his father. “Goodbye _, Papà,”_ he whispered, and kissed him on the lips.

 

Onofri flinched. Nobody ever gave the _Judas kiss -_ the kiss on the lips - unless they meant it.

 

Fredo had just told his father that he was dead.

 

The old man straightened up, squared his shoulders. Opened his mouth, as though he had some last words for them – couldn’t speak. Ray steadied thegun.

 

And nobody stopped him.

 

 _It’s true,_ he thought,as the body fell backward. _Second time’s easier than the first._

 

“Wait a minute,” Fredo was on his knees beside his father, and for one squeeze of a heartbeat Ray hurt. _God, what have I done? What must that man be feeling?_

 

Oh. The bastard was digging through his father’s pockets.

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Jackie was saying. “By the time this place is dug up, our grandkids will be dead.”

 

“I just wanted this,” Fredo looked up, smiling, holding a pocket watch. “It was my Great Grandfather's.”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Ray rolled his eyes. “You piece of shit.”

 

“What?” The last look on Fredo’s face was one of bewilderment, as Ray shot him in the head.

 

There was a moment’s silence. Sal broke it. “That was a bit harsh.”

 

Jackie started laughing. “You crazy fuck, Cuz, what’d you do that for? We were gonna use him.”

 

“You’d trust someone who’d kill his old man?”

 

Sal looked at him with displeasure. “He was justified, Mando. You know that. Onofri started this war. If anyone was going to make the peace gesture and give him up, it had to be Fredo. You shouldn’t a killed him.”

 

 _No, I shouldn’t._ Ray stared at the body _. What the hell’s wrong with me?_

 

He shrugged, and carried on talking, like this was a normal thing. “I didn’t trust him. He was weak.”

 

“That’s why he was perfect for us – we could have bled the Onofris through him.”

 

“One of them would a taken him out in a week anyway. Then they all start fighting like a bag of cats – in a couple of months there won’t be any Onofri Family worth the name. We’ll just step in then and clean up. That was always the plan, let them kill each other off. This way it happens quicker, without us having to be involved in the politics.”

 

Sal thought about it a moment. “Point.”

 

“Nice shooting though,” Jackie was still chuckling. “Didn’t see that one coming. Okay,” he added, “you two better get outta here. The Paddies will be back with the cement truck in half an hour. I’ll look after this.” He kicked the bodies into the pit, then gave Ray one of his rare smiles. “You did good, Cuz. _”_

 

 _Yeah._ Ray watched for a moment as Jackie shovelled sand into the hole to cover the bodies, thought of himself and Benny, running all over Chicago, saving the day. _I did good._

 

_Once upon a time._

_~*~_

 

Ray wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He stood watching Cash carefully, the length of the room between them. The man was waiting by the workout benches. His hands were in the pockets of his denim jacket, and his eyes were very dark. Ray wondered if he had a hand on his piece.

 

Ray spoke first: “What happened to Sarah?”

 

Cash looked away. “Seems like it was a professional hit. Just what it looks like, a contract killing – almost certainly Onofri.”

 

“Onofri’s dead,” Ray said.

 

Cash’s head snapped back around.

 

“His son’s dead too,” Ray continued without satisfaction. “They died about an hour ago.” He paused. “But you knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?”

 

Cash nodded, and bit his lip, like he was trying to snatch a word back. Ray was getting good at reading other people’s ‘tells.’ Cash wanted to say something, but couldn’t. “Yes. We knew that.”

 

_And you did nothing to stop me, to save them, to save me..._

 

Nothing surprised Ray anymore.

 

“Makes it easier for you guys, doesn’t it? Having only one Family to worry about. Guess someone did you a favour.”

 

Cash looked at him as though waiting for him to crack. “Is there anything you want to tell me before I start recording?”

 

“No.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

"You were hallucinating again last night.”

 

Ray paused. Of course, they heard not just his confession, but his conversation with Armando.

 

“I’d had a particularly bad day,” he said, in arid tones.

 

“Hmm.” Cash made an equivocal noise, as though he could go either way with that explanation. Then he shrugged, and got straight to business. “Okay. Before we start, you have to know that the local police consider you a suspect in Sarah’s murder.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“Right. Of course you do. It will be messy for a few weeks, then the whole thing will die down.”

 

“I know that too,” Ray said, his lip curling with disgust. “Guys like me get away with murder.”

 

Cash paused. “You’re absolutely sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

_There’s a lot I want to tell you._ “Like what?” Ray asked. “Just go ahead, let’s get the interview out of the way.”

 

“Okay then.” Cash sat, with a sigh, and somehow became Johnny again. He gestured for Ray to approach. “Interview commencing four thirty five pm, March the eighth, nineteen ninety seven.”

 

Ray sat next to him on a workout bench, and stared at the recorder between them.

 

_Eight days in. Still not dead._

 

“So, Agent Langoustini.” Johnny grimaced slightly at the name. “We got your report last night. Firstly, thank you. It was very thorough under the circumstances. We have some questions which might help you remember more detail if you’re ready to talk about it now.”

 

“I have more detail,” Ray said, and coughed, rubbed his mouth.

 

“Go on.”

 

“I shot Athanosios Skoulodis through the temple. Then, this afternoon, I shot Pietro Onofri and his son Fredo –”

 

“Jesus Christ, Ray!” Johnny clicked the cassette off, and stared at him. Ray looked back at him hopefully. A reaction. He had done something unforgivable. They really were going to punish him this time. Johnny shook his head, and took out the cassette, started pulling the ribbon out. “That’s what I meant by ‘is there anything you want to tell me before we start.’ You’re not supposed to tell us stuff like that.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Look,” Johnny said, twisting the ribbon around a pen. “Everyone knows that your hands are going to get dirty. And nothing you do undercover is prosecutable, so it’s not like I have to do this to keep you safe. But if we get the Iguanas to trial, and somehow their lawyers got hold of this in discovery, it would put your testimony right out of the game. You just can’t…” he paused. “Look, I’m sorry. This is the sort of thing you just can’t tell us.”

 

Ray stared hopelessly at his feet.

 

“So, if I ask you who killed Skoulodis, what are you gonna say?”

 

“I’ll say I don’t remember.”

 

“And if I ask who killed the Onofris, what will you say?”

 

“I’ll say I don’t remember,” Ray whispered _. They’ll probably believe that anyway – they all know I’m a fuck up._

 

“Okay. Are we good to start again?”

 

Ray said nothing.

 

“Ray,” Johnny said, his voice carefully measured. “Do you need to see the doctor?”

 

Doctor Grey. Not Sarah. Never Sarah again. “No. No, I don’t need to see the doctor.” He’d see Doctor Grey after the interview, of course. He always did. She’d check his blood pressure, change his dressings, ask about his eating, his sleeping. She’d probably smell the whiskey on him and ask him if he’d been drinking last night. He wondered how drunk he’d sounded when he gave his report. “I don’t need to see the doctor,” he repeated.

 

“Okay. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

 

“I’m ready.”

 

Johnny put an arm around him and gave him a light pat on the shoulder. “You sure you’re not going to fall on your sword?”

 

“Yeah,” Ray squeezed the words past the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I’ll be good.”

 

“Okay. I’m putting in a fresh tape. Don’t make me have another mechanical fault, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Johnny sat back, reassured. “Interview commencing at…”

  
 _~*~_

 

That night Ray drank himself to sleep again. He didn’t dream of Sarah, but he did wake in the rec room with a blistering hangover. When he could stand the daylight, he wandered into the garden, sat on the stone bench, and stared at the swimming pool that nobody ever swam in. The shadows from the palm trees turned as morning passed toward afternoon, and he took a few business calls.

 

Nero brought him food. He didn’t eat it. He did pour himself a drink. No swigging from the bottle this time. He was going to have to learn to pace himself.

 

Gang Crimes, right now, would be planning to bring him in to ‘help with their enquiries’ regarding the death of Sarah. He’d have to talk to Pender at some point. He knew how the local PD would spin it - they’d be looking for motive _. Maybe think I got Sarah whacked in revenge, ‘cause she was operating on Joey when he died. Maybe that’s the kinda thing Armando woulda done. Fucked someone, then killed ‘em._

 

Who cared what anyone thought of him? He didn’t.

 

Right now, Jackie was planning security arrangements for the phoney funerals. He’d be knocking heads together, telling them to get it _right_ this time. Nero was ordering flowers, and talking to the caterers, again. Sal would be talking to the Irish unions, and his corporate lawyer, about the casino. Within the next six to eight months the damn thing would be finished.

 

And tomorrow night, Ray was going to show his face at the Executive Game, scare the shit out of the players.  

 

Yeah – life was back to ‘normal’ for the Iguanas. They’d check in on him at some point, especially considering what day it was, but it seemed they had no doubt that Armando was on the mend.

 

Ray sat on the stone bench,  and squinted through the trees at the sapphire sky.

 

“Where you been, Mando?” he asked, as his brother sat beside him. Armando said nothing, arms folded loosely across his lap, gazing at the floor. “It didn’t help, did it?”

 

 Armando spread out his red hands, stared at the blood. Shook his head.

 

“It’s our birthday,” Ray told him. Armando lifted his gaze, and nodded.

_‘She’s praying for us,’_ the ghost whispered.

 

Ray squeezed his eyes shut. His heart staggered at the image of Ma, somewhere, on her knees, praying for her two boys. Maybe she was at the cemetery, by Armando’s empty grave. Maybe she was lighting candles at St Michael’s. He could hear her voice, as so often in his childhood, broken up in whispered prayers. _‘Ave Maria, piena di grazia…’_  He knew now why she spoke to the Virgin. One broken-hearted mother to another.

 

They had planned for this to be a special day. They had planned on taking Maria’s kids out for an eclipse party. Benny would have come, regaled them all with fascinating astronomical anecdotes, and Ray would have pretended not to be interested.

 

What was Benny doing, today? Who with?

_‘With whom.’_ He laughed as Benny in his head corrected his grammar. Laughed as though there were anything left funny in the world, anything joyful, anything glad.

 

Laughed and met Armando’s empty eyes.

 

In the sky above Chicago, the sun was going black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian Translations:
> 
> codice d’onori - code of honour
> 
> 'Come si può credere alle bugie questi bastardi dicono?' - 'How can you believe these bastards' lies?'
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks goes to the usual suspects. First and foremost, JDD who has diligently beta'd this thing into something so much better than the original that I can't find words to thank her.
> 
> Secondly my diligent readers and commentators, all of whom have helped me think... especially may I thank Christina for helping me dress Sarah, and do some digging around on building sites. Everyone who answered my questions on William and Elises' due South forum.
> 
> And Ride, for the Art of War.
> 
> Too many to thank at this point, but you do know who you are.


End file.
